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wangsejabin · 1 year

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Chapter 59

Pan'er looked out at the rain.The rain was beating against the banana leaves outside the window, and at first glance the sound was miscellaneous, but when she listened carefully she could hear a special rhythm.

She reached out for a moment and the cold rainwater wet her hands, making her subconsciously flinch, but then she went to reach out again, and Aunt Qing came over and said that she was still childish and wanted to close the window, but she stopped her. That was when the Prince walked in. "Your Highness." Pan'er called as she turned, making a move to get up, when the Prince had come close and held her down. "What are you doing?"

Seeing that her hands were still covered with rain droplets, and remembering the scene he had seen when he came in, the Prince took the handkerchief from Xiang Pu and wiped her dry, then put it in his hands and rubbed it hot."You're not a child." "I am a child." She said it with a straight face, crossed her arms, raised her belly slightly, and wrinkled her nose, making the Prince laugh again, under the illusion that he had raised a daughter.

" Alright, you're a child." He distracted himself by saying to Aunt Qing, "Isn't it time for your meal, order someone to pass it up." Then he went inside and changed into his homely clothes before the two walked outside together.

The evening meal was still very generous. The dishes included duck gizzards in Shao wine, baked bran with assorted ingredients, fire cube with honey sauce, beef roasted in wine, pigeon baked in salt, and fish mouth in sauce. Most of the dishes were Huaiyang dishes, all of which she loved, and probably because it was raining and cold today, there was also a one-pint pot.

The so-called one-pin pot is a soup pot, and there is no standard of what must go into this dish, it's all spontaneous. But the Jiang family's cooks do a fine job, and this one-pin pot has been eaten twice before by Pan'er, with chicken and duck and fish balls, meatballs, whole pigeons, and probably some other things that she doesn't know about.

All in all simmered into a pot, simmered soft and creamy soup, when the pot is simmered, put in several kinds of seasonal green vegetables, mountain mushrooms, dried silk, bamboo shoots, sliced chicken, shredded ham, etc.. The soup was so thick and fragrant, and the vegetables so fresh, that Pan'er could drink two bowls of soup and eat a bowl of rice with the soup.

When the Prince saw her eating like this, he was disapproving of her, saying that only puppies and cats would eat like this. But Pan'er liked to eat like that. The second time, the Prince stopped, knowing that it was useless to talk about it.

This time, as expected, Pan'er asked Xiangpu to serve her a bowl of soup. As she drank the soup, her body was warmed up. She couldn't eat it herself and asked the prince to watch. She also asked Xiang Pu to give him a bowl of soup, but he refused. In all seriousness, the soup was well made and fresh enough, but when the Prince saw it, he remembered the way Pan'er used it to soak his rice and eat it.

"There is nothing wrong with eating this way, many people in Yangzhou eat rice in soup, we have a dish here called nine silk soup, in fact, this dish is similar to nine silk soup, that is, it is also a soup and a dish, it is right to eat the dish with rice."

Anyway, whatever Pan'er said became a bunch of sophistry, which the Prince had only recently discovered. Because of her gags, the prince, who did not stop eating and did not say a word, had changed a little and did not say nothing during meals. When he saw her eating with her eyes narrowed and her face enchanted, the prince wondered if the East Palace's kitchen was still not up to scratch, and was tempted to let the Jiang family have two cooks sent over when he left.

After the meal was finished, Pan'er was full again. But it was raining outside today, so there was no place for her to go for a walk, so she had to go around the house. The prince went to drink tea and read the newspaper, while she went around the house, not stopping to open the window every now and then to look outside. At one point, I heard her say to the servants, "I don't know how long this rain will last."

At another time she said, "The rain has finally stopped." But it was dark by then, so naturally she couldn't go out, and she tossed back to make her little dress. Yes, Pan'er had found herself another job in the last few days, making clothes for the children. The Jiang family had sent her a lot of fabric, and after a few days of careful selection, she finally chose some of the most inconspicuous fine cotton cloth, and asked Xiang Pu and the girls to help her cut it into palm-sized pieces, in the name of making clothes for the unborn child.

Don't ask the Prince how he knew this, he was just like this when Pan'er was tossing and turning, drinking tea and reading the confidential papers. He remembered that at first she had cut out a lot of fabric, and then the oddly shaped pieces of fabric got smaller and smaller, and eventually there were just a few left in her hand.So the Prince had come to the conclusion that she was not good at needlework.

But it didn't matter, she didn't need to do the sewing anyway, there were plenty of people down there to do it. The Crown Prince had been busy for a while and was afraid that she would be too bored in the courtyard, but now she seemed to be too good at finding things for herself to do. Pan'er worked on her needlework for a while and then tossed her things aside, without the Crown Prince worrying that she would hurt her eyes if she stared at them for too long or anything.

She was just a tea's worth of heat, and also the needlework didn't work, so she got frustrated with it and just didn't want to do it anymore, and then she threw it away. According to her, she was in no hurry, there was still so much time before the baby was born anyway, and the prince doubted that when the baby was born, her little garment would not necessarily be ready.

Because of this, he also told Zhang Laishun to tell Aunt Qing to keep an eye on it and find two good embroiderers to make it all together after a while. In fact, without Zhang Laishun's reminder, Auntie Qing knew that she had taught Pan'er how to do everything, but not needlework. When Pan'er ran out of things to occupy herself with, she came to work with the Prince.

She couldn't win at chess and she couldn't win at backgammon, so she had recently found a new game - playing five pieces.The origin of Go is even older than Weiqi, but unfortunately it is so simple that not many people play it, and many families use it as a primer for young children to learn Go.

However, it is said that when Go was introduced to the Japanese, it became very popular there and was played by all men, women and children. This is said to be what Pan'er had heard in his previous life. In fact, if you play it seriously, you will find that Go is very interesting.

Firstly, it is simple, you don't have to count ten moves like in Go, but of course you don't have to count, you just don't have to think too hard. The second is that you can win or lose very quickly, so you don't have to be as patient as you are in Go. Pan'er usually has to move first, and then the Prince will move again. After she has played three pieces in a row, she will find that her way is blocked by the Prince, and she will then adopt the routine of killing the teacher with her fists, moving randomly and just trying to block the Prince's way.

She was so interested in winning that she usually won five out of ten games. But it is said that she usually wins, but in fact she is not aware that someone has let her win. Usually she repented when she made a mistake, and the Prince told her many times that she was not a true gentleman to repent and that she had no regrets at the start. When she could not, she would pretend to be pathetic, and then the Prince would give in and let her repent. The time passed slowly in this way, and just as Pan'er yawned for the first time, a sudden sound of a zither came from outside.

She perked up as if she'd had a cocktail of blood. "Here we go again!" At this point, the Prince was a bit tearful, always feeling that the more he got to know her, the more faces she had, like digging for a treasure with many things hidden inside, and with every shovel, there was always a surprise coming out.

It could also be called a shock, after all, sometimes Pan'er's reaction was a bit unusual, and the Prince was quite puzzled anyway. Just like now. It was not the first time that the sound of the zither had appeared, it had been there for almost half a month, and it was clear that the person playing the zither was highly skilled, one of the best the Prince had ever heard. Who was the player? Who had nothing better to do than to play the zither at night?

The prince was not curious, but Pan'er asked Zhang Laishun to find out, and the result was Jiang Qiong, the sixth daughter of Jiangcheng. When it came to Jiang Qiong, according to Zhang Laishun's enquiries, the Jiang family praised her from top to bottom, saying that she was the most beautiful woman in Yangzhou, that she was gentle, virtuous and generous, and that everyone had good things to say about her.

What does such a young lady want when she stays up at night and plays the zither in a nearby pavilion?In fact, everyone knew that Pan'er should have been jealous again. But she wasn't jealous, she was like a rooster's blood every time she heard the sound of the zither, and even asked the prince to appreciate it. Her reaction was not like that of a woman.

The prince even suspected that she had been opening the window to see if it had stopped raining just because she was waiting for the sound of the zither.Not to mention the fact that Jiang Qiong was playing the zither outside in the early spring chill on such a rainy day, but Pan'er had only cheered up a little before she started yawning again.

It was time to rest, and it was best to sleep on a day like this when it wasn't too hot or too cold. She seemed to be a bit sleepy lately. The Prince thought to himself as he glanced at her. When she washed up and went to the couch, Pan'er went to lie down inside, but the sound of the zither outside was still lingering, with a faint hint of sorrow, as if to say that it was difficult to find a soulmate in a high mountain and flowing water.

The prince was curious, "Why is the little jealous girl not jealous this time?" Pan'er was waiting for the prince to say this, she guessed he would not be able to hold it in. "Why should I be jealous?" The prince half leaned back on the pillow and glanced at her with a 'stop pretending, I'm waiting for you to be jealous' look. Of course this was what Pan'er read from the Prince's expression, with some of her brainstorming thrown in, but she certainly wasn't telling the truth. She also came to her senses and sat up, legs crossed, with the look of someone who wanted to have a long talk with the Prince.

She was still a little confused when the prince glanced at her stomach and Pan'er became a little embarrassed, she was nowhere near her stomach, it wasn't showing at all, how could she possibly be nesting. Still, the Prince was so considerate that she was endlessly flattered and obediently moved closer to his arms. "I don't understand, why would Your Highness think I would be jealous?"

" Aren't you?"

"Your Highness hasn't even seen what she looks like, just because of the sound of a zither, why should I be jealous? Is it great to know how to play the zither? I am not extremely good at the zither, but I can still play a few pieces, so why should I be jealous of her?" The prince didn't say anything, but was clearly saying that was the case.

"Besides, if everyone says it's good, there must be something fishy in it. I was the prettiest little girl in the area where we lived when I was a child, not to boast, but I was good looking and polite and understanding, and all those older women and aunts praised me in front of people. "

"What do you think? I've also been told that I don't look like my father, that I must have been born in secret when my mother went back to her mother's house, and that my mother went back to her mother's house for so long because she resented my father's incompetence and ran away with someone else, and then they didn't want my mother anymore, so my mother returned with me in tow."

Pan'er evened out her breath and continued, "You see, it's the ordinary people in the city, there are so many rights and wrongs, you can't say that human nature is evil, but only that some people don't mind watching the hilarity, anyway, everything that doesn't make sense can make them speculate some story."

"The place where my family used to live, which Your Highness has never seen, is the most dilapidated place in the entire Yangzhou city, dirty and messy. The people who lived there were all the lower class people in the city, all hard workers, bathers who gave baths to people, Taoist nuns who pretended to be gods and spirits, blowmen who played at red and white ceremonies, dog-skin plaster sellers who walked the streets, and landlubbers who cheated, or the lower nine as they were often called. "

"The adults were so busy making a living that they neglected the children. The children and adults in the house have to be clean to be comfortable. But in that kind of place, if you're clean you don't fit in. You'll attract people's eyes, plus my father that wooden person, to put it nicely could be called simple and having no temper, to put it bluntly called a henpecked coward.

"If a man can't stand up, a woman has to be strong, otherwise the family will be bullied there, so everyone in the neighborhood has experienced my mother's strength. Plus my brother and I, we're one of the best among the kids, and when you add up a few things, there are people who see what's going on. My mother fought several women over it, saying she would tear their mouths off." Pan'er got excited and boasted.

She realised that she had spoken too much, and smiled shyly at the Prince, and hurriedly got to the point: "What I mean by this analogy is that this is the norm, that it is impossible for something to be perfect, and that if someone says it is good, there are bound to be others who say it is bad for various reasons. What is the one thing that is said to be good? We are now living in the Jiang family's garden and everyone's name is Jiang, so we can't believe everything we hear."

The prince also became interested and looked at her, "After all you've said, you want to say that the Jiang family's girls are not as virtuous and generous as Zhang Laishun has inquired, but also not as gentle and decent, and extremely beautiful as they've said."

Pan'er nodded her head, "That's pretty much it." The prince laughed, but did not say anything. She was annoyed by his laughter and pouted, "Am I not right?"

"Yes, why not, I just realised you are very clever."

"I've always been clever." Seeing that the prince was silent again, she became annoyed again,

"Isn't that so? Doesn't Your Highness think I'm clever?"

"A little bit clever."

"Just a little clever?" The Prince chuckled,

"Well, a little more than a little clever."

"That's all?"

"Isn't that enough? You've told such a long story, you're just turning the corner and saying that people are not as good as they say they are," the Prince was speaking slowly, but when he saw the first signs of her annoyance, he sped up his speech,

"The point is that I think it's quite reasonable. " "Your Highness also thinks I have a point?" She looked at him, looking quite serious. The prince nodded, and she burst into laughter, snuggled into his arms and stopped talking, extraordinarily obedient. "After all is said and done, it's still a little jealousy." The prince murmured.

#mtl #yingchong

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kayssweetdreams · 2 years

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Maestro Hiccups Part 3

"OK, Let's start with an easy cure: holding your breath!" Mei suggests. Balan took a deep breath and held it for a whopping time of 5 minutes before he had to breathe. "...Did it work?" Mei asked. Balan looked relieved until a loud "HIC!" Was released. Emma soon found herself in a big rocoro style dress, which was the same blue as her hair. "Ok...that's a no." Mei sighed. "Why don't you try drinking water from the wrong side?" Lucy suggested. Shiro (Balan's Favorite Tim) bounded over with a glass of water in her head "Thank you Shiro, you sometimes are my hero." Balan thanked as he drank the water from the top of the glass. Once he finished, Balan seemed to be hiccup free...until one had bubbled up in his throat. A big raincloud appeared over Haoyu's head and a flood of rainwater burst over him.

"Alright...Now what-" Balan was cut off by a menagerie of loud sounds coming from behind him. He Jumped into the air at breakneck speed and crashed into the ceiling of the theater. The source of the noise happened to be Lance, with a KosoKoso named Kuro. Balan looked at Lance with anger "WHAT IN THE WONDERWORLD WAS THAT FOR?!" Balan shouted "You wanted a cure, and I thought a scare was in store." Lance replied, a cheeky smile on his face. Cass went to stop the two before they fought each other "Well, a sudden fright DOES get rid of hiccups, and you don't seem to have them any-" The green haired Girl was cut off by a loud "HIC!" as a giant cymbal crashing monkey appeared and began to crash its cymbals in Lance's head. "Never mind..." Cass said over the crashes.

Kaylo raised her hand as if she had been wanting to say something for a whole "What is it Kaylo?" Mei asked. "私はキュアを持っています！それは私の家族全員が使用した古い治療法です!" Kaylo chirped. However, due to her sudden language change, nobody could understand what she meant. "You know of a cure?" Yuri asked. Kaylo nodded, happy that someone could FINALLY understand what she said. " はいはい！ The Cure は、Balan が頭の上に立って桃を食べながら、"Yankee Doodle" という歌を歌い、色のターコイズについて考えているところから成ります。" Kaylo explained. Yuri translated for her "OK, Kaylo says that for her family cure, Balan has to stand on his head and eat peaches, all the while singing Yankee Doodle and thinking of the color turquoise." Everyone looked as if Kaylo had grown a second head. "Is that even a cure?" Bruce asked "もちろんそれはキュアです!!" Kaylo shouted. Yuri calmed her down. "Easy Kaylo, Yes it is a cure, and besides...nothing else seems to be working. " the bespectacled girl said. Balan didn't seem to mind "Alright, I try this Bruno Remedy, Just get me some peaches and I'll sing the Yankee Doodle melody." He said. A bunch if Tims brought Balan a big plate lf peaches as he began to stand on his head. The lyrics to the song became muffled by the peaches in his Mouth

"Kaylo is this even gonna work?" Cal asked "おしゃべりは控えめに、もっと桃" The gyaru girl replied back. "She said Less Talk, More Peaches" Yuri said. After at least 5 minutes of Balan standing on his head, the peaches were gone and he had finished the song. "I think it worked!" Emma cheered. "I can't believe it! Your crazy family cure worked!" Cal exclaimed. Kaylo gave a a smile before the cheers were cut off by a loud "HIC!" All of a sudden, everyone in the room to now be upside down, all standing on their heads. "Oh well... it worked for a little while..." Bruce said.

The cap on Yuri's head was gone, revealing what Balan's hiccups had done to her. Her entire head of hair had been turned hot pink. "So THAT'S what happened to you Yuri!" Rebecca shouted. Yuri looked mortified at the sight, but Kaylo began squealing "ああ、神様！！あなたの髪はピンクです!! ピンクの髪がとってもキュート！" Yuri blushed at Kaylo's praise "But Kaylo, I look silly..." she said. " いいえ、あなたはしません！あなたはほんの数仕上げです!" Kaylo replied. After being upside down for at least a good 40 minutes, The humans and maestro had finally gotten back up again. Kaylo and Yuri had left so Kaylo could play with Yuri's new hair while the others tried to find a cure...

But the cure would find them sooner than they thought.

(A little Balan Fic I made, inspired by this! https://shadowqueen402.tumblr.com/post/691857479604305920/hi-could-you-please-write-a-fic-about-balan

Mei belongs to @sundove88

Rebecca belongs to @thehypercutstudios/@thehypercutstudios

Trisha Jane Belongs to @lovelyteng

I only own Kaylo)

#Balan Wonderworld #Balan #Lance #Leo Craig #Emma Cole #Jose Gallard #Fiona Demetria #Yuri Brand #Haoyu Chang #Sana Hudson #Cass Milligan #Cal Suresh #Iben Bia #Attilio Caccini #Lucy Wong #Eis Glover #Bruce Stone

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ultramagicalternate · 2 months

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ULTRAMagic Interlude: Shadowland Chapter 8

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Master Post

Having wrapped up his business with Sten for the time being, Barna figured it was time to get something to eat. He took everyone to a pub, The Dashing Ram to be precise. Truthfully he needed a drink after everything he had just been through. Albrecht also needed to take the edge off as he was still frazzled from Dunja’s revelation. The pub was not too far away from the castle, with the trip over being reasonable. Arriving at the establishment, things were fairly busy. It was around dinner time after all and the pub happily served food.

“All of you head over there while I go get us some dinner” Barna instructed. Strolling over to the counter, he encountered a good friend of his. “Bjorn! How ya been? Everything back in order?”

“Barna, it’s been a while! Yeah, things have been a little bumpy, but we’re getting back on track.” Bjorn was an older gentleman with graying hair and a wrinkled face, yet still had an aura of vigor to him. “What can I do for you?”

“2 ales, 3 meads, 1 rainwater, and whatever you're serving for dinner tonight.”

“Ha, me and Brynhild figured you’d be around after what went down this morning. Pot roast suit your fancy?”

Barna put the money on the counter. “Sure, that’d be fine.”

Bjorn handed a note to his wife and began counting out the money. “Barna… is that Dunja over there?”

“Yup. She’s fully on board for cleaning things up. You should’ve seen the duel she and Englehart had.”

“So Sten must be getting pretty serious then?”

“Absolutely. He wants Milosh dead now… Say, can you send word to your brother that I need at least ten kegs of explosives?” The question was asked in a hushed tone.

Bjorn was surprised. “Now what would you need… you’re not thinking of blowing up the church, are you?”

“Sten asked me not to, but I want them as a contingency. Dunja said she’d destroy the church herself with her magic and bless her heart for doing so, but since when do things ever go to plan?”

“Aye. Understandable, especially with Andelin and Gratiana still running around. I’ll pass the word onto him.”

Back over at the table, Aureolus was looking around and marveling at the decor. There were hunting trophies, paintings of wilderness, and plaques detailing various accomplishments. “Wow, this place is cool. Do you guys come here often?”

“Whenever we get the opportunity to do so” Claudius answered. “Fortunately the owners were able to keep the place running during the dark times… unfortunately by striking a deal with Milosh and Gratiana. He gave them a cut of their profits in return for the pub being a neutral zone of sorts. I remember the day it happened: Bjorn went right up to Dunja and Milosh and made his terms crystal clear.”

“Ah, I see. Bjorn is a very strong man, isn’t he?”

“Certamente. He is an expert brewmaster, his wife Brynhild is a top notch cook, and both would be damned if they ever lost the pub.”

“You don’t think they’re mad at Aunt Dunja, do you?”

Torunn jumped in to answer. “Aside from the shenanigans of the deal, not really. We’ve discussed it over the years and all agreed that Milosh was truly the problem.”

“Oh, well thank you, Torunn” Dunja replied. “I really need to hunt down the cult’s treasury and ledger so I can get their money back to them…”

Barna came walking over with a large wooden tray full of food and six mugs. “Here we are, everyone” he said as he set it down on the table. “Before we dig in, let’s do a quick toast…”

Albrecht was about to take a sip of his mead, but paused. “Sure. To whom are we toasting?”

“I’d say to Blood and Dunja since they were pivotal in us being here tonight. Ahem, to Blood-Wraith and Dunja, may the Source bless their souls…”

“Cheers!” Everyone said in unison.

After their sips, Torunn spoke as she took some food. “Aside from the church, I want to prioritize recruiting Andelin at the moment. Funny you mentioned the ledgers given how she’s been keeping track of them, Dunja.”

“Has she done anything in my absence?”

“I’m not sure. She’s been keeping out of sight as of late. We didn’t hear a peep out of her when we went open season on the cult.”

Dunja thought about that explanation for a second. “Hum… knowing her, she’s probably planning to betray Milosh. I could see her doing that and she may or may not have indicated that to me a long time ago… Hey, Albrecht? Has she…?”

“Nope, sorry. Just Gummi” he replied. “Speaking of him, can I ask a question that’s been bothering us for a while?”

“Sure… what’s the matter?”

“Who’s Gummi’s mother? We’ve got some suspicions, but…”

“It’s Gratiana,” Dunja answered. “She had a fling with Milosh a while back and left Gummi with him.”

“I presume that means we won’t run into any friction if we recruit Andelin and Gummi, hopefully” Torunn pointed out. “Worst case scenario is we have to fight Gratiana on the spot.”

An idea then occurred to Aureolus. “Would it be arrogant to say we’ve won already? I was just thinking about it since we have so many advantages already. Honestly I’m not sure why they keep fighting despite the obvious reasons.”

“To answer your question, yes and no, my boy,” Barna said while eating. “You have a good point, but the issue is that that church still stands. They have something to rally behind. Of course, it’ll only be standing for so long, hehe…”

Dunja slowly turned to Barna. “Didn’t Sten ask you not to use explosives?”

“Yes, but I want them as a backup…”

“Barna… Are you doubting my skills and resolve?”

“No no, of course not, your majesty.”

Albrecht shook his head. “Jeez Uncle, you’re going to blow up that church no matter what, aren’t you?”

Barna chuckled. “Well look at it this way: If we’re successful, that is one destroyed church and ten less barrels of explosives our enemy has to work with.”

Meanwhile at the other side of the city, Odo led the charge into the cult tavern, contrary to instructions on the card. The building was dingy and rundown, full of sullen and morose cultists. They complained about their lot in life and cursed the powers that be. Of course, they did not expect a knight, a blacksmith, and a gunslinger to come barging in. There was no time to react as bullets flew and furniture was thrown.

One mook tried to tackle Odo only to get a shield bash to the face. “Don’t announce your attack next time, fool!”

“Blithering blaggards still can’t fight!” Weaver called out in response as he punched a cultist square in the face. Another was walloped in the neck. A third came screaming at him with a broken bottle, but he intercepted him with a hard elbow to the chest. “WHAT DID ODO JUST SAY, IDIOT?” Weaver then took the attacker and threw him to the ground with a heavy thud. The ensuing elbow drop definitely knocked the offending cultist out of commission.

Gabriella was busy firing off rounds from her guns that pierced her targets in such a way that would only incapacitate them. Her main target was what seemed to be the head of the tavern, who was ducking and weaving behind a counter. He promptly lept out of a window and ran for it. “Bloody Coward!!” she declared.

Odo punched the last cultist and turned to the angel. “Do not expect finesse or dignity from these ne’er-do-wells, my dear.”

“Yup…” Weaver picked up a booze bottle and smashed it over the head of the man he struck in the throat. “Damn, thought I knocked him out… Yeah, these mooks were never properly trained, if you couldn’t already tell. We’re all pretty sure Milosh never actually lifted a finger in his life, so don’t expect them to know how to tussle.”

Odo nodded. “Now, I presume you have an idea on where to look for our information?”

“I have a few ideas. Me and the boys have raided our fair share of these junk heaps in the past…”

Weaver led the two to a backroom with an odd bookcase at the far wall. It was quite out of place, being surrounded by barrels of weapons and rotten food. The key appeared to be a particular book sticking out of the third shelf. Pulling it rattled the bookcase, but nothing else happened. The second try yielded no luck either. Having no patience for this nonsense, Weaver cautioned for his friends to step back. Black, molten metal engulfed his arms as his hair began blazing. He grabbed the entire shelf, ripped it off the wall with a roar, and flung it across the room. With a mighty crash, it exploded into a mess of broken wood and rubble.

“Honestly my patience for this hogwash ran out a long time ago. Now stay close, we don’t know what’s down there” Weaver warned.

A stairway had been revealed that led to a series of basement rooms. It was musty and dank, with cabinets and crates all over the place. A lot of it was ruined supplies and records of non importance. Surely there had to be something, indicated by the card that had been given to Weaver… assuming it was not a trap. Tearing through the papers was grueling, as a lot of them were covered in mold and stunk to high heaven. That was not to mention the poor lighting, copious amount of dust, and unending amount of cobwebs.

Gabriella found a cabinet in the back that seemed promising. She opened it up, but something was off. A shiny, black sheet was on top of everything. Was it a protective piece of rubber? The angel went to remove it only for it to lunge at her. “GENTLEMEN? HELP!!”

Weaver and Odo rushed over to see Gabriella on the floor. She was trying to get a shiny, black substance off of her arms. This was made impossible due to the goo rendering her hands useless. “Oh jeez! Hold on, I'll help you! Now hold still…” Weaver responded.

While he took care of that, Odo went over to the cabinet in question. A lazy boobytrap no doubt. “Ah hah! What do we have here?”

“Find something good?” Weaver inquired as he waded up the goo. He then handed it to Gabriella. “Here, hold on to it. It’s actually pretty useful in the right hands…”

Odo went through the files until he found one called “The Fear.” It was heavily censored, but had some key details they needed. “I do believe we have our target!”

“Goodness, is it a primordial like we’ve been suspecting?” Gabriella asked as she put the black goo in her pocket.

Odo nodded as he continued to look through the documents. “Yes, yes it is. It’s even in a reality error here in Shadowland… Let’s get moving!”

The three quickly departed the tavern, only to stop outside the doorway. Something was not right at all. It felt like they had been followed. “Alright, who’s out there!?” Weaver called out.

There was a moment of hair raising silence before a woman emerged from the shadows. She was dressed in a tuxedo and top hat. Eagerly shuffling her deck, she approached them. “Well done, you three. Quite the performance…”

“Andelin!” Weaver growled. “What do you want?!”

“Well I hate to be rude, but I need to cut right to the chase: All of you are interfering with my plans and I cannot have that. Not one bit.”

“Plans? What plans? What have you been up to?”

“Shh… do you hear that? It’s the winds of change…”

“Pardon? What the Hell are you even talking about?” Weaver demanded to know.

Andelin giggled in a creepy manner. “Since you’re so interested in what I’m doing, how about a bet? If you win, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. If I win? Hehe, let’s just get into the betting… I bet that I’ll add you three to my deck by the end of this confrontation. Now you…”

“What? Just what are you playing at here?” Gabriella asked as she readied her guns.

“Make. A. Bet. Against me, preferably.”

Weaver looked at his friends, then back to Andelin. “Fine. I bet we’ll subdue you and take you to Dunja and Torunn.”

Andelin smiled. “No more bets, please. Now, how about we start things off with a little game, interested?”

Odo did not like the sound of this. “I suppose that would be preferable to fighting. What exactly is this game?”

Next: Chapter 9

#chaotictempleknight #ultramagic alternate #fantasy #sciencefiction #sciencefictionfantasy #literature #fiction #writing #story #chapter #writers on tumblr

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hardynwa · 5 months

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NCF warns against encroachment of Magodo wetland

The Nigerian Conservation Foundation has warned against encroachment of Magodo wetlands, adding that the development would lead to immeasurable loss of biodiversity. This is contained in a statement signed by Oladapo Soneye, Communications Manager at NCF and made available to newsmen on Thursday in Lagos. Soneye described Wetlands as dynamic aquatic ecosystem found all over the world. He said that Lagos State, the land of aquatic splendour, has wetlands all over its five divisions in the State. "Recently, there has been an allegation that some people are making efforts to clear off the Magodo wetlands. "NCF considers this as insensitive and lack of understanding of the important role that wetlands play and we call on the agency of government responsible for protecting the wetlands to swing into action to stop the destruction. "We therefore make an appeal to the Ministry of Environment and Water Resources as an organ of government with professional and experienced individuals in conservation and ecology to advice the concerned on the dangers inherent in destroying or degrading wetlands in our environment," Soneye said. He quotes the Director -General of NCF, Dr Joseph Onoja as saying: “Urgent intervention such as awareness creation, habitat restoration, and livelihood improvement are part of the solutions to stop further degradation of wetlands and help in their restoration.” Soneye said that Wetland iis an area of land that is saturated with water either permanently or seasonally; and can be freshwater, brackish, or saline. "Wetlands can be thought of as biological supermarkets that provide great volume of food which attract many animal species. "These animals use wetlands for part of or all their life cycle. It provides values that no other ecosystem can. "These include natural water quality improvement, flood protection, shoreline, erosion control, opportunities for recreation and aesthetic appreciation and natural products for our use at no cost," Soneye said. He noted that Wetlands contribute immensely to tackling climate change challenges by enhancing the adaptation and resilience capacity of the ecosystems, provide nature-based climate solutions and address socio-economic challenges such as water pollution, erosion, food security and human health, and disaster risk management by restoring water catchments. He listed some of the benefits of Wetlands to include capturing and storing of rainwater; replenishing ground water aquifers; regulating water quantity and supply by releasing water at the right time to the right place in the right amounts. Others included improving water quality by removing and absorbing pollutants. He stressed that Wetlands in Nigeria were highly valuable as they contain a variety of reptiles, mammals, amphibians, and bird’s species. "Wetlands sustain life and keep us healthy. Healthy watersheds provide natural, safe drinking water and support food production. "Wetlands give us much of the fish we eat and are used in cultivating rice for 3.5 billion people globally. "Wetlands are important for biodiversity as 40 per cent of the world’s species live in wetlands, with new fish species discovered in freshwater wetlands annually. In considering the economic importance of wetlands, they play a vital role in addressing socio-economic challenges through multi-sectoral job creation for people in sectors such as forestry, fisheries, agriculture, and tourism. "Unfortunately, these rich ecosystems are being threatened and lost at an alarming rate due to population pressure; poverty; deforestation; intensive cultivation; oil and gas exploration, industrial waste pollution; coastal and marine erosion; overgrazing as well as climate change," Soneye said. He noted that World Wetlands Day is commemorated globally on Feb. 2, annually to harp on the vital role of wetlands for people and our planet, with the need to preserve and conserve. Soneye said that NCF had been playing a leading role in mobilizing support, attracting attention, and influencing decisions in favour of wetlands protection and conservation in Nigeria. He added that the foundation continues to intensify drastic efforts in ensuring that wetlands are not being considered as waste land. Read the full article

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babyjoysdiary · 9 months

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Not me potentially being drugged tonight.

Im in my new apartment and I wanted to collect rainwater but forgot my keys. So inevitably I got locked out, without my phone…during a thunderstorm.

Fuck! Anyway I go knocking on apartment 4’s porch door…no answer. But I remembered this Native dude named Jeremy lived in apartment three right below mine so after thinking I hallucinated raccoons just to realize I actually didn’t…and did in fact see raccoons 🦝 Locked eyes with them… And had them almost charge me while I was on the front steps of this damn apartment… I start banging on the other side of the apartment and on the door… And right when I’m going to give up and think I’ll have to use a plastic lawnchair to defend myself from any more raccoons trying to avoid the thunderstorm… He opens the door

And invites me into his place. Now spirit told me to be careful and not to but I sit down and he offers me a monster. But I don’t drink caffeine so he quickly suggested orange juice.

So I obliged. I take one sip and he asks me how I got into this fucking mental institution..well sober apartment living.

And as I say I use to drink and thought I was doing X but was really doing meth he tells me he still smokes! He still smokes meth.

And then I take another sip and I just fucking know. My chest gets tight and my teeth fuzzy.

But I’ve been down this road before. So I keep calm and say thank you for saving me from the storm and raccoons. A fucking incantation. A fucking spiritual dam to darkness. And ask if he wants to see my place…just to see if I can stand I know it seems like what the fuck, not enough time has passed. But bitch I don’t eat right and meth faster than you think.

So he grabs his keys and locks his own ducking apartment door. I’m like, panicking inside cause Nigga why?

You ain’t staying at mine. But I don’t get aggressive. I just notice how he puts the oj on the counter as we leave. He locks up and sees mine idk what the fuck he says upstairs but I grab one cig and head back outside, obviously he follows.

Then i don’t fucking know he asking me questions. Also reveling shit, telling on himself. Idk.

But I just act dumb and sweet so he don’t get mean or know I am the wiser.

During this little fucking dance/hunt/played out take he tells me he is 40. Just got out of a 6 year relationship with some woman who was getting her life on track. He referred to himself as a child and baby bird.

And I’m just… aware.

And sweet while standing my ground. And I think back to the time, I was gonna say first but that would be a lie, I think back to the last time I was drugged in St. Paul by a Native man. Cause my traumatized ass has been drugged, raped, and almost killed by White, Black, Native man alike.

So I act fine. I act sober…but I’m starting to slit my speech because my thoughts increase speed past my capacity to speak…and when I finish my cigarette I tell him again, “thank you for saving me” and say imma go finish unpacking my apartment.

And I say it sweet but firm. No wiggle room to my innocence.

Then/now I do the acrobatics.

Maybe I’m just tired

Even a meth headwouldn’t be dumb enough to drug and try to date rape a neighbor..right? You at least don’t fucking shit where you eat?

Then I think back to the last man that drugged me. How his uncle literally was running a meth lab next door and I was on the porch of the house I was renting a room in from a white woman. These niggas don’t think.

Or maybe they now my Black pussy has been punished to think for them.

Or at least we all know I will be punished for being assaulted. So telepathically we all know I will have to do the risk assessment of being honest about the harm…and well. I can’t afford the risk of being honest.

I relook up the signs of meth like I don’t know them and am not currently experiencing them.

Chest pain, inability to concentrate. Racing thoughts. Risky behavior like other hard drug use and dangerous Sex. Stroke. Heart attack.

Then/now I go through the list of people I could call.

And be a snitch? And have to move? I’ve been here three fucking days. Not even. This is my third.

He talked a lot of worry and bragged about his friends who come by. Who are currently homeless. Bragged how he uses less than them.

They know the spot. I can’t blow up the spot by… snitching.

So how do I gain power back?

When just this morning the Nigga up the street living in similar housing flirted with me and tempted me with tge bottle. To which I declined. To which he asked if I would at least go with him and beat up a couple people for him. Ah to be non-binary. To have drunk and high men share honest thoughts of wanting to fuck me or be fucked by me, take from me and for me to save the damsel in distress within them. Ah yes, just so when they remember weakness is a threat? So they can turn on me? Feel the need to put me back in my place?

These men don’t know the trauma I have faced has made me have to turn down coffee and ice cream! I can turn down liquor, meth, and bussy easily.

I wanna call my therapist but to say what? Almost got raped again. Lol.

Everywhere I go, I am touched as if the other being just couldn’t help themselves. Lol.

Tomorrow I will walk to the hospital by myself. And tell them, “I think I might have been drugged last night. Can I get tested?”

And I will ask for an itemized list of care. And receipts.

And I will avoid Jeremy in apartment three. No matter the results.

Maybe I am just tired. Maybe my empathic ass caught his high?

I wanna tell Daddy but he would just do what he always does. Cast a spell firstly over himself, “do you think you were over reacting?” Then over me. “I tell you to stop being Alice in Wonderland all the time!”

Then he will magically fall asleep. Like he has done since I was 12. And I mean literally he will pass out. And in the morning? The memory of my truth will be skewed, edited and buried.

Daddy always calls me Alice when I tell him monsters and potions are real.

I’m never completely honest with Momma when shit like this happens. I remember in 5th grade, the first time I escaped a sex trafficker.

This man was in a red pick up truck and before I ran home, spirit told me to lose him. So I ran to a church on a weekday. Not Wednesday or Friday either.

And it was locked. And as he was stepping out of his trucked, I shapeshifted into a bunny. When I got home Momma wasn’t even upset that I was late coming home from the park.

I had gotten away with not listening and leaving her incubator and my three block world.

I was already guilty when I saw the tv. Momma was watching Criminal Minds. This episode was about a pedophile. In a red pick up truck. I remembered wanting to cry. There was no way she would believe me now! Plus I would have to admit to not obeying her orders.

And I got use to padlocking truths at that point. With my cousins making me eat hair gel and licking me in closets and kicking me in my vagina for months at that point. I remember how my eldest cousin got beat when she didn’t wash the dishes and just couldn’t imagine what would happen if I told anyone about when we played slave.

I don’t want to move. I just got here. I don’t want to snitch. Jeremy in apartment 3 moved in last week. And I don’t need meth heads having a reason to focus on me.

Now I know he drugged me cause I haven’t taken the time to write in a minute.

Not like this.

I’m so fucking proud of me.

I was offered liquor and meth today and touched for my grace so munched today. And maybe almost date rapped. Avoided getting raped for the 100th time, but the…he would have been the 34th or 35th person to assault me…hahahaha it depends on how you count it.

And rn I’m just…smoking blue lotus and mullein. Writing this so I don’t forget.

Lol why do I keep hearing his manic footsteps in the hall?

And why does every shadow become a Black bunny?

Why did everyone I talk to today tell me a secret? Why do I have so many secrets?

Whenever I tell on Daddy, how he victim blames. Others use femme words to shame him to me. And Daddy did come out to me as two spirit awhile ago. So like, I get triple mad when he don’t protect me.

Momma always been Momma bear when supposedly a man was required.

I potentially emasculate my father enough when I shift into son mode for Momma. I hate when others do it. That’s my Daddy.

And Momma? She just too good of a comfort girl for master for me. I often don’t tell her shit to save her hair from falling out but also…she loves cops and shames me for not finishing school. I refuse to have my trauma add to her being a good negro pays off narrative.

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ererokii · 3 years

Text

Line without a Hook || E. Jaeger & J. Kirstein

➳ Jean Kirsten x Fem Reader x Eren Jaeger

Word count: 4,517 Warnings: angst, fluff, unrequited love, cursing ➳ note: this is based off the song Line Without a Hook by Ricky Montgomery! I’ve been thinking this for a long time and I’m super excited by how it came out! Also big thanks to @reddriot for betaing!

➳ Synopsis: is love really worth it? Let me say, it’s not always worth it.

You can hold my hand if no one’s home.

Do you like it when I’m away?

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

It starts out simple really. A boy and a girl. Childhood friends, to be precise. Those two are inseparable. Nothing can tear the friends apart, besides their parents, of course. Like two peas in a pod.

Jean says he knows you like the back of his hand. He truly means that. He knows your favorite boy bands from when you were younger, how many terrible phases you’ve gone through, favorite foods, and places. If he wrote a novel about the things you told him, he would be a renowned author.

Since kindergarten to now, in the middle of your junior year, you and Jean have been side by side. You told him everything. From random vents and gossiping about the rude girls in your class to how horrible your period cramps were— even though Jean hated hearing about the last, he stuck through it for you.

Only you.

The pavement that followed the street your house was on is memorable. Jean can recall the amount of times you’ve had races, chalk scribbles covering the grey that would be washed away by the angry neighbors.

He listens to you as you talk about a kid getting in trouble in your Calculus class, watches how lively your motions are as you speak. Jean can’t help but smile when a laugh slips past your lips and you glance at him. There’s an unknown sparkle in his eyes, one filled with love.

You haven’t changed one bit, he thinks as he faces back forward, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His mind begins to wander as you both continue down the pavement, part of your routine when school ends.

Your houses are right next to each other. You’ve been with him since you were in diapers. He was there when your first tooth came out, congratulating you, and you were there for him when he finally learned to ride his bike with two wheels instead of three.

The bubbly lovable five-year-old back then is the same as you are now.

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Oh all my emotions

Feel like explosions when you are around

A sigh of disappointment leaves Jean’s lips when he listens to Connie talk about something he has learned over the weekend (something completely stupid— he just doesn’t care). Currently, the students are at lunch, the cafeteria full with loud shouts and random noises.

“Connie, shut up,” Sasha groans, placing her water bottle on the table, wiping her crumbs off. “No one cares that you finally figured out how to stick a spoon to your nose.”

“What do you mean?! You were the one who showed me!”

The brunette gasps and looks over his way, cream cheeks tinted with an adorable shade of pink, pointing a finger at him. The bickering between the two commence as Jean listens, slightly amused.

As much as he indulges in their argument, he can't help but wonder where you are.

It’s not like you to skip lunch, especially without at least letting him know. Did you stay behind to talk to a friend? A teacher? Maybe you went to the bathroom.

But it’s at least 15 minutes in.

“Sasha,” he speaks up, slicking back his hair. The sound of her name catches her attention, making her look at him. “Have you seen Y/N?”

“Y/N?” she asks in a whisper before her lips curl in a grin, already knowing why he asked. “Do you miss her?”

“Just answer my goddamn question!”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Connie asks, looking between his friends before stopping his gaze on Jean. “Why do you need Y/N?”

“Oh, you know! He lik-”

“Shut up!” Jean shouts, catching the attention of nearby students, his face heating up as his cheeks turn a darker pigment. “Just answer me!”

“If you must know,” she taunts him, twirling a strand of hair from her loose ponytail. “I saw her talking to someone in the hallway. Must be important, she’s been there for quite some time. Might want to be her knight in shining armor and saving her, huh?” she cocks her head to the side, staring at one of the windows in the room, watching as the branches of trees sway from the harsh winds.

The atmosphere outside was cold, breezes rushing down on anyone who was not inside. The sun was hidden by the thick grey blankets filled with rainwater, waiting to shower the world. The temperature recently has been dropping, mid 50’s at least. The weather was a shock, to say the least.

“I didn’t know Jean likes her!”

“What do you mean?!” Sasha gasps, turning her body to face her small-minded friend. “It’s only obvious! You must be really stupid then!”

“Well, how could you tell?!”

Before Jean has a chance to interrupt Sasha, she begins to rant. He prefers to stay silent, clasping his hands together in his lap as he lowers his head, finding interest in the marbled tiles of the floor his feet rest on.

The words that slip past Sasha’s lips reach his ear and out the other.

It’s easy to tell, Connie. Have you noticed the way he looks at her? Can’t you see the love in his eyes? The way he will actually go out of his way to help her with anything? Here you guys are, two close friends, I thought you would have known about his crush. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on every time he ditched plans with us to go hang out with her. He’s whipped, and you’re too stupid to know it.

His cheeks turn a shade of pink as his eyes squeeze shut, her words replaying in his head like a broken record player. Each sentence is like a knife stabbing away at his brain, causing the slightest ache to form in his frontal region.

She’s right. Anything she just said five minutes ago, is completely and utterly correct.

He can still hear her talking about it to Connie, but he can only focus on three sentences that stick to him like glue.

Have you noticed the way he looks at her? Can’t you see the love in his eyes? The way he will actually go out of his way to help her with anything?

Memories of him helping you in any possible way come to mind. He can’t recall how many times he has entered class two minutes late because you had so much to carry.

He stares at you like you’re the only thing worth looking at. It reminds him of those cliche animated movies with hearts in the character's eyes. He’s blinded by his love for you, that he never noticed any signs that you don’t feel the same way about him. His heart races miles per hour when you’re around. Sometimes he worries for himself that maybe, his heart might explode within him.

“Anyway, lunch has about 20 minutes left...where is she?” Connie mutters, scratching the top of his head.

“I don’t know, but,” Sasha grows quiet, listening to the ongoing thunder from the outside. The lights flicker for a second, a couple of yelps emitting from other students, slightly afraid that the power might go off while school is in session. “The storm is almost here.”

“Y/N!” Connie suddenly yells, pointing in the direction of the door, your body jogging closer to the table. “Where have you been?!”

“Sorry!” you laugh, out of breath as you drop your things on the bench, taking a seat beside Jean. “I got caught up in a conversation with someone! I guess I lost track of time for a bit.”

“I messaged you like four times,” Jean mutters, glancing over at you before looking at the table, playing with the plastic straw that he used to drink out of.

“You did?” you ask, pulling your phone out from your pocket, lips puckering when indeed he did so. “I’m sorry, Jean. I didn’t even feel my phone vibrate.”

“Oh, whatever, who cares! Eat! Or I’ll eat your food!” Sasha yells, pointing a finger at you, a smile gracing her features.

You laugh along with her as you converse with your peers, the conversation you had replaying in the back of your mind. Jean chooses not to intervene, instead would rather listen.

The roaring thunder plays in the background, everyone paying no mind to it. What he doesn’t know is that the storm is much closer than Jean could have thought.

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Listen close, it’s a no

The wind is a pounding on my back

And I found hope in a heart attack

Oh at last, it is past

Now I’ve got it, and you can’t have it

Another evening, another study session, another day of bottling up his feelings until he can no longer hold them inside.

The storm made its way to shore, raining pouring down and even some hail; not what anyone was expecting.

Jean mindlessly flips through the pages of his English book, not even paying attention to the words as he checks how many pages are in chapter five.

“This seems pointless,” he adds with a sigh, tossing the book on your bed along with his highlighter he uses to annotate with. “I should just find a summary online or something, I don’t want to read this.”

“And why is that?” you ask, looking up from your book, placing the hardcover against your thighs. “Is it boring to you?”

“No,” he mutters, rolling onto his back. “It’s stupid. This love crap.”

“Well...it is a romance story, the teacher told us when we got the book. But why do you think it’s dumb?”

“He writes letters for her, and in the end, she ends up rejecting him. I don’t think that’s romantic.”

“And? It’s beautiful on his part,” you close your eyes as you stretch your arms over your head, letting out a grunt. “It’s the fact that he wrote to her every day. It’s like he poured his soul into every word. The words he uses are..literally everything. It makes me swoon over him, and he’s not real. Makes me wonder if someone would do that for me.”

Jean’s head perks up at your words, one of his eyebrows raised in curiosity when he notices the bashful look on your face, eyes averted to the comforter on your bed. “Why do you have that dopey look on your face?”

“Huh?!” your eyes are blown open as you look over at him. “What are you talking about?!”

“I’m talking about that, idiot,” he points at your face, watching your eyes cross faintly to stare at his finger. “You’re acting about that guy in the book.”

The patter of the rain is the only noise that fills the void called silence in your room. His warm eyes don’t leave your face at all, waiting for your answer. You’ve been acting weird ever since you were late to lunch this past week.

He watches your mouth open as if you’ll say something but close it right away, like you were concealing anything you had to hide.

“...well? Y/N? Are you there?”

“Yeah!” you cough into your elbow, running a hand down your face. “I-- you can’t tell anyone.”

“You know I never tell anyone what we talk about.”

You’re silent, a bit too quiet than usual. You fiddle with your fingers before blurting the words that have been eating away at you.

Jean’s heart stops for a moment, eyes wide in shock when he processes it. His blood runs cold as he’s unable to move, frozen like a statue. The signals in his brain begged him to respond, but he couldn’t. He could hear the faintest sound of bells ringing in his ears; all noise surrounding him was now drowned out by his thoughts.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

“You like someone?” he asks in a whisper, barely audible to your ears, but you heard as you nod shyly, biting down on your lip. “Well... who is it?”

“That’s...I can’t say it.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I’m afraid to say it out loud because I don’t want to ruin my friendship with him.”

Friendship? That could be anyone at this point.

I have to figure out who, he thinks as he draws random patterns into the sheets. “Well, tell me about him then. Is he in our grade?” he asks.

“Yeah, he is. He’s in four of my classes.”

Jean was in four of your classes. Math, English, Foreign Language, and Science.

“That’s it?”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Can I finish before you interrupt? Thank you.”

You pause momentarily before speaking again.

“He’s stubborn. I’ve noticed that his demeanor changes when it depends on who he is with. He seems like a hardass and looks like he doesn’t want to be bothered, but he seems like a total softie when he’s with people he loves. Not to mention he’s hot...and tall. He’s blunt and straight to the point. He doesn’t bullshit at all. He’s really sweet as well, to me. He always goes out of his way to make sure I’m okay and how my day was. He just..he seems to care for me, and I feel the same way about him.”

Jean takes every word you say into consideration. He’s stubborn, it seems that he doesn’t like to be around people he doesn’t know but loves those he does know. He knows he’s hot. Practically every day he looks at himself in the mirror and thinks about how good he looks.

He’s blunt and straight to the point. He doesn’t bullshit at all. He’s really sweet as well, to me. He always goes out of his way to make sure I’m okay and how my day was. He just..he really seems to care for me, and I feel the same way about him.

Jean can feel his doubt and worry turn into happiness and confidence as you keep on ranting, to which he’s not fully paying attention anymore. He knows it's him. It has always been him.

No one else.

Jean likes you.

And you like Jean, that’s all there is to it.

“Do you want to tell him?”

“Yeah...” you trail off, scratching the nape of your neck. “I want to tell him on Friday after school. Do you think he’ll like me back?”

“I think he would. How could he not? He would be a total idiot to reject you.”

You hum at his reassurance, placing your hand on his, squeezing gently.

“Thanks, Jean.”

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Darling when I’m fast asleep

I've seen this person watching me

Saying, “Is it worth it? Is it worth it?”

Tell me, is it worth it?

Friday comes, and Jean can hardly wait for school to end. He’s not paying attention, his eyes constantly staring from the whiteboard in the front to the clock that tauntingly ticks slower than usual.

He bites down on the pink end of his pencil in anticipation, tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor, the noise resonating through the classroom.

Maybe I should just keep my eyes off the clock, he thinks, lowering his head back to the worksheet their teacher gave the class.

Econ class was a drag. He could care less about the differences in macro and microeconomics, the same with Communism and Capitalism. It’s just a bunch of words that don’t make sense to his brain.

This was one of the classes he didn’t have with you, the last class.

Instead of doing his worksheet (luckily, the teacher said it would be for homework if it wasn’t finished), Jean proceeded to think about ways he could tell you his feelings.

He could be old fashioned, tell you how much he adores you and how happy you make him feel when you’re around. How his heart can be heard from the outside of his body, how his hands got warm and clammy, maybe sweaty when he became too nervous.

He could ask you out on a date. Take you somewhere, one of the places you’ve told him in the past that would make a great date for you. He smiles when he thinks about taking you downtown at night, looking at the soft lights that would brighten the streets; loving the sparkle in your orbs as you look around in awe.

He hums, pleased with himself when he figures out what he’ll do, scratching the back of his ear.

He wonders if you’re thinking the same thing.

You glance at your table partner, looking at his piece of paper before looking down at yours, displeased how his is able to look better than yours. You pick up your eraser, gently wiping the shadings away from your drawing, careful not to crease your paper.

“It’s not that hard you know, you just don’t know how to shade.”

“I know how to shade, Eren,” you reply with a huff, placing your eraser back down. “It’s just...this is a bit harder than usual.”

“All you have to do is follow the markings,” he presses the edge of his drawing pencil against the reference photo both of you are using, tracing the shape of it. “You could honestly just copy the photo, I doubt this woman would even notice.”

You chuckle at his choice of words, shifting in your seat to get comfortable. “I don’t think she would anyway. She just stares at it and calls it an A. I bet for our expressive project, she wouldn’t notice if we copied each other.”

He shakes his head with a smile, the loose strands of his hair swaying with his head movement. “No, she wouldn’t,” he rolls the sleeves of his hoodie to his elbows, grabbing his pencil again. “Then again, we are working on it with each other.”

“Speaking of that, what should we do?”

“Up to you, Y/N. I don’t mind. I’m just trying to pass this stupid class anyway.”

You relish in the silence between you as you gaze at him from your peripheral. You take notice how his hair frames his face effortlessly to the dip in his nose. It’s perfect how it forms to his cupid’s bow to his lips; not too big nor too small either. Just right.

You clear your throat, scratching at the nape of your neck. “Why not do...stages of love?”

That catches his interest.

“Stages of love?” he asks, moving in his chair to face you, a hand propping his head up. “Elaborate?”

“Like you know...how we gain a crush on someone. We like how they make us feel, and soon we think about them some more. Maybe make little scenarios in our head. Then we gain the crush and want to be around them. You know what I mean, right?”

He’s silent, hues that represent the blue of rivers, boring into your own. At first, you think he hates your idea, but then the corner of his lips curls into his infamous grin. “Yeah, I like that. Did you have anything else in mind?”

“Maybe...rejection?”

“Rejection?” he repeats, a bit shocked at how romantic your words were, to something filled with sadness. “And why would you want to do rejection?”

“W-Well,” you stutter, unsure how you should put it. “Everyone always talks about the good in love but never the bad. And I think it could be done good, you know?”

He hums, scratching away at his chin before nodding. “Yeah, alright. That sounds oddly specific, but I like it. We can honestly get started soon, that way, we can finish faster and not worry about it.”

His smile throws you for a loop, your face heating up as you pick up your pencil, trying to distract yourself.

“Say, Y/N?”

“Yes, Eren?” you reply a bit too quickly, cursing yourself out internally for sounding too desperate.

“Can we talk?” his cheeks are a shade of pink, his eyes averted as he plays with one of the strings of his hood, reminding you how a child would distract themselves. The tips of his shoe nudge against yours, barely kicking gently.

“Aren’t we talking right now?”

“No, I mean after school.”

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

And in my eyes, there is a tiny dancer

Watching over me, he’s singing,

Jean storms out of his Econ class with a grin, hands gripping onto the straps of his backpack as he looks down one end of the hallway before going down the other direction. The art room was three classes down his. Usually, Jean will wait right there by the door for you since you take ages to finally leave the classroom.

When Jean finally reaches the room, he sees that the doors are locked, and the lights inside are off.

Huh, that’s weird, you’re always one of the last to leave, nor are you ever this early.

He stands there for a few more seconds, peering in through the small glass, and sees nothing before taking a step back and quickly continues to walk down the hall. His legs are quicker, going down the two flights of stairs.

His eyes frantically search for the yellow shirt you wore, unable to find you anywhere.

“Sasha!” he calls out once he reaches the end of the stairs, running towards the girl and their friend, who was at the lockers, pulling things she needed to take home for the weekend.

The brunette looks over her shoulder, stopping her conversation with Connie as she shuts her locker. “Yeah, Jean?”

He pants, leaning on his knees before letting out a deep breath and standing straight up. “Have you seen Y/N?”

She ponders for a while before shaking her head, looking over at Connie, who shakes his head, shrugging. “We haven’t seen her since Art class.”

“You didn’t see where she went at all?”

The events before class ending play in her mind before she gasps, snapping her fingers, pointing up at Jean. “Yeah, I know where she went!”

“...are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to guess?!”

She mocks him for a second before pulling her phone out. “I could have seen her leave with Eren. I think they went to the bench in the back. You know the one I’m talking about?”

He’s taken aback for a moment before shaking his head, retaining the information. “Alright, thanks.”

Why would you even be with Eren right now? You never meet with him after-

“Are we still on for this weekend?!” Connie yells when Jean is making his way down the corridor.

“Yeah, we are!” Jean's voice travels through the air, reaching both of his friends, hands clammy as they’re shoved in the front pocket of his pants.

The walk to the back courtyard was tiresome. His feet seemed to drag behind him, an aching feeling forming in his gut. Thoughts pounded against his skull repeatedly, trying to force him to stop. He wants to stop, but he has to go.

He has to tell you he loves you.

He can’t help but smile when you describe the boy you like this week. In his mind and most certainly his heart, he was the king of the world sitting on his high horse as he screamed in victory, letting the whole world know that the person he likes, feels the same way about him.

The fresh air from the outside meets his nostrils as he deeply inhales, allowing it to enter his body before exiting. The sun is the first thing he meets with as he exits the building, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes away from the harsh light. He mutters something under his breath as he looks around for a second.

“She’s a,

She’s a lady and I’m just a boy”

His honey orbs finally stop on a bench where you and Eren are seated, that’s not too far away, but his body is hidden from your view. He lets out a sigh of relief, leaves crunching underneath his feet as he walks, not taking long strides, rather walking slow to rethink what he’ll say.

“Y/N, I’ve liked you for a long...no,” he mutters, stopping in his tracks as he looks down at the green grass and leaves, kicking away at them. “I’ve loved- no, that sounds a bit aggressive, goddammit,” he groans, tugging at the roots of his hairs. “Why is this so fucking hard?!” he growls underneath his breath, leaning against the brick wall.

He never was anything else but honest with you. How could he say it?

What if this ruins your relationship?

...what if you liked Eren?

His breath hitches in his throat when realization dawns on him. His lips part, a soft exhale releasing from within him. His fingers curl around nothing, as if he was holding the air’s hand. The tips of his fingers shake, his whole body stiffening as he stares hard at nothing.

How could he be so stupid?

It all made sense now. How you stayed behind during lunch that one time without saying anything; in the back of his mind that day, he knew that someone had to be a boy, maybe a girl. Even then, you would always let him know.

Jean should have known from the beginning that you only saw him as a brother.

His chest aches as his vision goes blurry, biting down on the inside of his lip to the point where he can taste the bitter metallic on his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut before opening, wishing he hadn’t at that moment.

He’s singing

“She’s a, she’s a lady and I am just a line without a hook.”

His heart breaks, stomach-dropping when he sees Eren’s hand brings you closer to his body, lips pressed up against yours; your hand placed on his cheek, cradling his face. Even from where he stands, he can sense the urgency in the kiss, how your bodies move together as one, how your fingers grip onto him like he’ll leave any moment.

His lower lip quivers for a second, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, clearing his throat. Jean cranes his neck upward, looking at the sky, muttering the words, “Why him?” over and over like a mantra, no other words coming to mind.

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you. Not Eren, just you. Those moments where you laugh, cry, or stay silent, those are the moments that flash in his head.

Did he do something to you? Was it something he said?

Did you ever like him at all?

“It’s pointless,” he whispers, pushing himself off the brick wall, immediately making a beeline for the doors. He swallows harshly, legs moving faster than ever, wanting to get out of this hell hole called reality.

Like every day, you’ll walk down the same pavement you’ve been walking on for years.

Only this time, he’s walking alone.

Oh, and if I could take it all back

I swear that I would pull you from the tide.

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

taglist: @sleepysnk @jaegerbomb20 @reddriot @kkiimmberly @kingtamakimurder @tamasoft @byougen @spike-this-ass @crimsonbows-and-arrows @squidonmywall @thicmitten (message me to be apart of it!)

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #aot #snk #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #attack on titan imagines #shingeki no kyojin imagines #eren imagines #eren jaeger imagines #jean imagines #jean kirstein imagines

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mosylufanfic · 2 years

Note

For rebelcaptain: B. Sharing a drink + M. When it rains/snows/storms

This is something of a sequel to this story, but you don't have to read it to get what's going on.

Table for Two

The rain drummed on the roof, creating a bubble of cozy warmth inside. Jyn leaned over the cooker and poked hesitantly at the stew in the pot. After years together, Cassian just about trusted her not to let things burn, but she didn't.

The front door opened and Cassian came in, stomping mud off his boots and shaking rainwater from his hair. He'd gone out to check the grain stores, which had a worrisome patch in the roof.

"How was it?" she called, turning away from the stew.

"Not leaking yet," he called back in reply, hanging up his coat to drip in the hall next to hers. She'd come in not ten minutes before from checking the herd of boofs, all tucked up in their barn. "We tacked a tarp up. Should hold for tonight. but when it dries out tomorrow, we'll need to get up there."

She nodded, turning to get the plates down. Possible leaks that turned into definite leaks during rainstorms were how you lost entire crops. "Where's Kay?"

"Charging." He came to fuss over the stew, taking one last taste and nodding in approval.

"What, already?" she said, taking the plates to the table. Kay usually didn't retreat to power down and charge until later in the evening. He didn't eat, of course, but he liked to be there while they ate. "Is his battery all right?" Droids didn't last forever, and she had no idea how old all his components were.

"I think he's fine," Cassian said, opening the breadbox to slice some of the loaf inside. His mouth had a curl of suppressed amusement. "Did you know it's our anniversary?"

At the apparent non sequitur, she cocked her head. "Wait, what? No, it's - " She paused, counted on her fingers, then checked the date. "Huh. It is."

"Right. That's what I said. Kay remembers it, though."

"Kay remembers everything." She came back for cups and flatware.

"He also told me that research indicates married couples need intimate time together to maintain the relationship and that marital or dating anniversaries are considered an optimum time to schedule this intimate time. He also suggested recreating a particularly romantic event."

She stared.

The amusement in Cassian's face was no longer suppressed.

"Kay said that?"

"Mmm."

"Kay gave you advice on maintaining our marriage?"

"Yup."

"That's actually chilling," she remarked.

He gave in and laughed.

"Did we ever really date?" she asked. “Because I can’t remember one.��

"I think we moved directly from you stealing my blaster to going AWOL together."

"I maintain that I found it," she said loftily.

"In my bag," he said, kissing her temple. "What do you think, though? Romantic dinner for two?"

She considered it. "Go on, then," she said. "We've got candles, right?"

Great chunky, ugly things in jars, for when the generator went out. But candlelight was candlelight, she guessed.

"Yeah, I'll get them. How about wine?"

"We've got cider still. Is cider romantic?"

He shrugged. "Don't know, but it's good."

She winked at him. "You're just saying that because you're trying to get into my pants."

He wiggled his eyebrows.

By the time she got back with a bottle of the cider she'd put up in great batches last winter, the candles were arranged and flickering, and Cassian had turned the overhead lights down low.

"Mmm, ambience," she said.

"Yes, very romantic vegetable stew this is," he said, setting a basin of it in the center of the table.

"Don't forget the bread," she reminded him.

"How could I? You're so proud of it."

"It's finally getting to be edible," she said. She had worked hard at teaching herself things like bread-making and cider-brewing, since Cassian was responsible for the rest of their cooking.

The first few loaves - all right, the first several - had been solid as rocks, better for re-tiling the roof than actually eating. But she felt like she was actually getting a handle on it these days.

He took a bite. "This is pretty good, actually."

"Yeah?" She tried it. Flavorful, airy, chewy. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that."

"I do call it that." He sopped it in his stew and took another bite.

"Wait for the cider," she said. She popped the cork on the bottle and gave it a sniff to make sure it hadn't gone to vinegar on her. "Right, yes, excellent year." With some ceremony, she poured it into the clay tumblers and held one out to him.

He took it and held it out in a toast. She bumped hers against it with a clonk.

"To romance?" she said.

"To romance."

She grinned at him and took a sip of her cider. "So, handsome. Come here often?"

FINIS

#Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #rebelcaptain #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #NaNo prompts #fanfiction #domestic fluff #star wars

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fivescoffeemug · 4 years

Text

chinese take out.

pairing : Five Hargreeves x reader

request : “Five fluff prompts you say? Can I get a best friends to lovers trope with an unspoken confession (like they just know they’re into each other but they don’t say it. if someone asks, they say friends though), with a side salad of staying in and eating chinese take out and watching dumb movies, and maybe a kiss for dessert? -Honey.”

Words : 1,022

A/N : sorry I took so long just to get one request done only now, I’m going through something really REALLY complicated in my own relationship (if I’m being honest, it’s leading to a breakup at this point) so obviously with these things in mind it was difficult to write stuff like this, but I love you guys too much not to do it. Thank you for your patience.

Taglist : @freestarlight

(gif by number5theboy on tumblr.)

You open the main entrance to the Hargreeves mansion, drenched and absolutely ruined from the thundering rain outside. Your once dazzling dress was now soggy in rainwater with your hair was dripping wet.

“Y/N!” Five exclaimed, rushing towards you. “What happened?”

“I’m never going to another party ever again,” you reviled, throwing your shoes to the far end of the room. Or at least, tried to, anyway.

Five sighed, putting your wet hair behind your ear so you’d look at him. You found it a bit peculiar for the situation, but if you were in his position you wouldn’t know what to do either.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but ... I’m proud of you, Y/N,” Five nodded, smiling warmly as his sea blue eyes met yours.

“I just graduated, and there was a party,” You grunted, sitting on the marble floors you’ve made wet. “There’s nothing to be proud about.”

Five sat in front of you, legs crossed. “I’m proud you even decided to go to the party. I know how much you hate crowds.”

You huff though your nose, soon feeling a headache come on. You wipe your face with the tissues Five gave you, but then realized there was still sadness dripping from your eyes.

“Hey ... hey, hey, it’s okay,” Five got closer as you buried your face in your hands. He slowly attempts to put his arms around you, you practically throw your arms around his neck. He didn’t mind that he was now wet too, because you felt him hold you tighter.

“You did so well,” Five said as you felt his face move closer to your neck, snuggling itself in a spot. “And I didn’t have to be there to know you did.”

You inhale, soon pulling away from the hug as you wiped away the tears. You smiled with what little strength you had left, and he did too.

“You should shower, and take as long as you need, I’ll clean this up and put your shoes back,” Five offered. “We can order from your favorite chinese place.”

“Yessss, thank you,” you heave a sigh of relief, carrying your dress as you stood up. There was still some water dripping from your dress and Five helped you squeeze it out so you could walk safely to the shower.

You walk down the grand stairs, seeing chinese take out laid on the center table of the foyer.

“You didn’t get drinks?”

“I made you coffee with plenty sugar and milk, just the way you do it,” Five said, appearing from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee.

“It’s eleven pm, Five,” you laugh.

“What’s the point if we’re going to be up all night watching bad TV?” He handed you your mug, smiling widely.

“Who says we’re watching bad TV? Netflix has a lot of good shows,” you pick up all the food and took it to the living room where the TV was, Five following behind you.

You set down the boxes, taking yours and grabbing the utensils, as Five turned on the TV to pick a show.

“Hey Five, I’m heading out, I’ll be back in the morning,” Diego yelled from the foyer looking into the living room. “Hey, you snuggling with Y/N? Wasn’t she supposed to be at a party?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Y’all sure y’all aren’t dating?” Diego raised an eyebrow, grinning as he pointed at Five.

“Up your ass, Diego,” Five remarked. Though he was facing Diego, you could tell he was smiling. Not from sarcasm, but more of, from gladness. Diego nodded, finally taking his leave.

“Finally, it’s just the two of us,” Five’s head turned up in relief. “This house is always so noisy with them.”

“But you love them,” you remind him, making him look back at you.

“Yeah, I do.”

Five puts his arm around your shoulder, you then resting your head on his. You both decided to play ‘The Queen’s Gambit.’

“Hey, can I have some of your chicken?”

“Of course, here.”

You offer up your food, him then biting from your fork.

“Do you feel cold?” You ask him, looking up after a while of watching.

“No, do you want me to get you my blanket?” He asks, and you nod.

He stands up after you lift your head from his shoulder and he blinks out of the room, immediately returning with his blue blanket. He drapes it over you, you then lifting your arms so he can tuck it snugly on your lap. Your feet are now up to your chest, so you fit perfectly under the blanket.

He then sits back on his spot, resuming your head’s home on his shoulders and his arm on your shoulder, just as you both like it.

“I’m sorry your party didn’t turn out well,” He looked down at you, your hair slightly tickling his neck, but he didn’t mind. “You hate parties but you seemed to be looking forward to this one.”

“It was a mistake anyway, I never had any real friends there, not because I was an outsider but because I didn’t want any, so that was probably why it didn’t work out,” you explain. “I should have seen sooner that this was the better way to celebrate my graduation. With you.”

You could feel his breath on your head, humming as he smiled. He planted a short kiss on your head.

“Who allowed me to be this lucky?” he whispered, but you heard it faintly.

And the show went on as you both slowly but surely finished the food, setting it down on the table once you were done. You finished the delicious homemade coffee Five made you, knowing it always tasted better when it was made by him.

You fell asleep with your head on his shoulder, him then doing the same with his head on yours, with him tucking his feet to his chest like you.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Five murmured, exhaling as he closed his eyes.

You knew any sort of confession would be useless; you both knew the relationship was beyond what words could seal. That’s how everyday should end; with you and Five telling each other that everything would be okay as you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

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joonsdiary · 4 years

Text

jamais vu (m)

↳ noun | the illusion that the familiar is being encountered for the first time.

(are you the remedy to my broken heart?)

pairing: jungkook | reader | taehyung genre: slice of life au, acquaintances to friends (to lovers?) au // heaps of angst, a tiny bit of smut, a sprinkle of fluff word count: 13,4k

— warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, hints of gaslighting, mild descriptions of a panic attack, themes of infidelity, sexual intercourse (protected penetrative sex, implied female masturbation)

— note: mildly inspired by the films lost in translation and ocean waves, as well as jamais vu by bts (hence the title). some concepts were derived from my wip list, so in a way this was my remedy for the writer’s block i was having while writing ‘worth fighting for’. i hope in one way or another it can be your remedy, too. (p.s. despite being inspired by lost in translation, i haven’t actually seen the film so this won’t be exactly like that adkjhsd)

— playlist: carry me home - jorja smith ft. maverick sabre / sweet insomnia - gallant ft. 6lack / drew barrymore - sza / run - joji / truth is - sabrina claudio / bath - offonoff / ghostin - ariana grande / ... etc!

There’s something thrilling about sitting in the backseat of a car past midnight, windows rolled down as the driver chases the destination planted on her navigation device. You welcome the cool breeze that tangles your hair into an uncomfortable mess, as it only helps propel your heart rate faster. Inhaling slowly allows you to savour the musky scent of the earth shortly after being bathed with rainwater; if this is what freedom tastes like, you wish to savour as much of it as you could.

Eventually, the exhilaration wears down as the city lights blur into a cacophony of colours. It’s incoherent and indiscernible, yet it possesses the ability to lull you into a dream-like state. You had the utmost privilege of plugging your phone into the aux cord, therefore the familiar voice of your recently played songstress croons softly against the speaker, filling the cold, void spaces in between. Your heavy eyelids fall into an accustomed pattern, gradually flickering until it closes shut.

Sleep beckons; fatigue welcomes you into the abyss, and you embrace it with open arms.

Well, almost.

“Can you roll the windows up? It’s freezing,” he mumbles as he sinks further down the leather chair. You jolt awake at his sudden announcement, but he doesn’t apologize for disturbing your calmness.

“Hm? Yeah, of course,” your fingers scramble to find the right button to press until the tempered glass lifts, shielding you away from the busy city. You want to argue that it’s not even that cold, but he scoots closer towards you, tugging on your left arm before burying his head in the crook of your neck.

A wistful sigh escapes your lips and you turn to place a quick kiss on his crown. You immediately understand the exhaustion that plagues you both, brought about by the time difference between the country you came from and the one you’re currently visiting. You glance out the window once more as your thumb plays with the golden band on your ring finger.

Seoul is beautiful. The city itself is alive, evident by the way the summer stars in the night sky are dimmed by the light that emits from the numerous buildings and towers that create Seoul’s skyline. Looking at it from above while on a plane is similar to peeking at a telescope to view a galaxy far away, dotted by billions of brilliant stars. But despite the breathtaking aerial view, nothing feels more intimate than weaving through its streets.

Although you can tell its old roads are recently refurbished, unsurprisingly, which buries any inkling of familiarity beneath the cold cement. Despite you knowing the place, there’s still something different about it, like buying a new laptop to replace the old one. The specs are guaranteed to be exactly like its predecessor, but the fact that it comes in a sleek box, still unspoiled and untouched, fascinates you all the same. It begs to be used until you’re so attached to it that you refuse to part ways even just for a singular moment. That’s what defines Seoul for you.

But the city can wait. There will be plenty of opportunities to explore and rekindle your love affair with the town you once called your home. For now, your reason for being lays cradled within your arms, encapsulated within the bubble you desperately wish would stay intact, unmarred by the destructive forces of reality.

Although those illusions of fantasy can only take you so far. The fragility of your relationship is beginning to materialize into a spectre, its gaunt face haunting you in every corner you look. There’s no escaping the truth as it will, without a fail, catch you in one form or the other.

“What are you thinking about?” he hums lazily, soft breath tickling the nape of your neck.

“Just excited to finally be back after so long.”

“That’s right, you moved away long before I did.”

“Mhm.”

The discussion flickers out of existence, whose life is shorter than that of a fire in measly matchstick. You aren’t much of a conversationalist, and you appreciate that neither is he. Is that the defining trait that convinced you to marry the man sitting next to you three years ago? Perhaps. You like that he gives you the time and space to bask in your thoughts when you need it, even if there are moments where you’d like nothing more than to connect with him like you used to.

“I miss you,” slips out before you’re able to hold your tongue back. But you don’t scramble to reclaim the words like you usually do, followed by an apologetic I didn’t mean it like that. You let the phrase simmer, hoping it will soak him to the bones enough that it becomes his wake up call.

But, “I’m right here,” is all he says.

The him-of-past would have cradled your face in his big hands, turned you so that you’re face to face before he makes a silly face that will make you laugh. He’ll say you’re being silly for even thinking of such thoughts when he’s always been by your side, and forever will be. It will follow one chaste kiss, then a second, and before you could blink his limbs will tangle with yours, hearts beating fast but in unison, nonetheless.

“I know,” you murmur.

Perhaps he believes it’s enough that he’s there beside you, physically. Perhaps it’s wise to presume the same. It’s only wishful thinking to expect otherwise, after all.

Jungkook believes he’s a creature of habit. Or, he used to be, at least.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with falling into a certain pattern in life, especially at his age; God knows he needs a stable rock to hold on to so he doesn’t get carried away by the raging currents of the river.

But it had only been once upon a time where he enjoyed such endeavours; waking up, coming down to work, going back up to bathe, before finally retiring to bed. Yes, he’ll find pockets of time to eat meals, of course. Days come when he has the freedom to choose to go to the gym, instead, so his life isn’t completely mundane. There’s a nuance to such life, and he always aspires to have the propensity and the undeterred tenacity to stick to such a strict regimen.

However, days began to bleed into each other with the same shade of grey, indiscernible and incomprehensible. It’s not necessarily a lousy experience because he never felt starved or threatened out of his home. Life for him is like cruising down the endless highway, foot off the gas but going at one hundred kilometres per hour all the same. The figures he passes by become obscured by the speed he’s going at, but at the very least he’s still heading somewhere.

It’s only recently he’s fully realized the futility of his mundane schedule. She’d told him so.

“Don’t you want to break away from all of that? From your parents’ expectations of you?” her voice comes softly through the phone. His moments together with her are often brief and hurried, their conversations cut short by external forces acting upon them both. It’s dinnertime for him, but she has to drop the call in order to catch the early bus for work. Such a prick, time and distance can be.

(Perhaps, he now looks back and thinks to himself, they’re merely trying to find more reason to converse less with each other. Since when did it start, the feeling of obligation?)

“Are you suggesting that I—”

She says yes without letting him finish his sentence.

So he finds vigour in his life once more as he throws himself into his work, constantly propelled forwards by the need to meet an end goal: Save up enough to be able to move halfway across the world. To see her. To be with her.

But the respite is brief, however.

The more money is stored in his bank account, the less he thinks of the idea as brilliant. Is he ready to uproot his life from the only home he knows to move in with somebody he has only met through the screen of his phone?

Looking at the bigger picture, nothing else has changed in his life. He needs a true break; a real step back from a routine that is numerous years in the making.

Having sex with a stranger in a random motel seems like a good way to go about it, he thinks.

Several hours prior, his friends asked him to go out drinking with them. Jungkook, who rarely makes time for such occurrences, naturally agrees, surprising the very same acquaintances that invited him. At that point he believes they’re only asking to be polite, not having the courage to kick him out of an old group chat formed during their college days. They never expected him to say yes then, and they didn’t until now.

Countless bottles of beer and a few shots of liquor later, he’s fumbling with the zipper of his tight jeans. The woman, whose name he didn’t have the courtesy of asking, giggles as she rises from the bed to approach him.

Mistake number one.

“Do you need help, love?”

He fumbles through his words, unable to form a coherent thought. It’s not that he’s completely inexperienced — although the woman probably thinks he is by the way he acts — it’s just that, admittedly, it’s been a good while since he’d had sex with anybody. Add the nervousness to his inebriated state, and he’s got himself in quite the dilemma.

Mistake number two.

“I’m guessing you like them tight,” the woman points out.

“Huh?” his head whips towards the woman, eyes wide and mouth agape, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Your jeans, I mean.”

The woman chuckles once again as he attempts to peel the fabric off his skin. “Wasn’t really planning on this, that’s why.”

Mistake number three.

“But you have this,” an inconspicuous packet is pulled from his back pocket. Jungkook merely grins sheepishly in response. The woman kneels as she grips his underwear but he grabs her hand and pulls her up instead, crashing her body into his. He recalls her murmuring something about getting straight to the point, but he’s unsure if the woman meant it as a complaint or a compliment. He didn’t bother asking to elaborate, because none of this is even supposed to happen.

Mistake number four.

Guilt bubbles from within his chest, gnawing at every nook and cranny of his consciousness.

Mistake number five.

He’d have to tell her sooner rather than later. It would be fucking shitty of him not to. But before he has the time to steer clear of trouble and save himself from potentially ruining the only good thing he has going in his life, the woman’s lips are on him. There’s no going back now, he assumes.

Mistake number six, seven, eight.

Nine: His kiss feels famished as he drinks in each quiet moan that comes out of the woman’s lips. Every second feels reinvigorating like he’s sitting in front of the roller coaster as the ride pauses before the first drop. When the wheels turn and roll against the metal railroad track, he stumbles back and falls into the bed. He’s here for the thrill, which would bring the total up to ten so far.

Eleven is when he watches the woman slip the condom with ease, sheathing him. His presumed experience she possesses excites him further; that is number twelve.

He loses count when she traps him between her knees as she licks two of her fingers at once, before hiking up her skirt.

Jungkook wants to laugh at his lack of perceptiveness. Tactless when it comes to asking for the woman’s name; even more inadequate and impolite not to think about prepping her.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, head tilting to the side as wisps of her hair fall across her face as she grinds herself against him. He bites back a moan as he looks away from her. It probably would be best not to tell her. He then catches his reflection in the mirror, and despite the dimmed lights he could outline the expression he’s making; a reflection of someone unrecognizable.

“There’s a mirror,” he pauses as she gets a hold of him, her warmth enveloping him as she slowly sinks onto him. His hips jerk seemingly involuntarily in response, and she groans, tossing her head backwards. He forgets to speak altogether. The woman does the same, opting to mumble profanity, instead.

Jungkook wishes to hide the shame and guilt, the wrongfulness, the missed opportunities to say no. Is his need to feel something other than the heaviness of his heart worth all the pain he’s about to put not only himself but the person he wishes to spend the rest of his life with?

And so he buries himself deeper before denial could even stake a claim in the vast expanse of his thoughts. If to forget is to lose himself in the pleasure of someone else’s company, then he’ll desperately seek the ecstasy he’s craved for so long until he’ll see stars beneath the darkness of his eyelids.

His breathing is no longer erratic when he comes into consciousness.

“That was good,” she breathes out softly, and he turns in time to watch her brown eyes disappear from view.

“I have to go.”

He gets up from the bed and begins to move on autopilot, picking up his discarded clothes one by one. The woman immediately sits up and asks with an evident frown on her face, “Already? Didn’t you have fun?”

The corners of his lips are pulled upwards into a grin. “It’s for work.”

“At this hour? It’s almost one.”

“Midnight shift.”

When he’s dressed, he hesitates at the foot of the bed, shifting weight from one leg to the other. He’s never been the best with words, and his unexpectedly expected tryst with a stranger leaves him at a loss for what to say. It doesn’t help that the woman refuses to meet gaze with him.

I wouldn’t want to look at me either, he thinks bitterly to himself.

“Thank you for your time. I hope to see you around,” his half-truth is enough to pluck a rueful smile from her lips.

The bus ride back home is the longest one Jungkook thinks he’s taken ever since he moved to Seoul.

You watch as Taehyung lazily drags his feet behind him each step he takes towards the bed and breakfast place you decided to rent. The cicadas chatter loudly as if to cheer him on. A few more steps, they urge.

“Come on, Taehyung,” you groan from above the stairs, already reaching the top long before he does. “I’m about to pass out, too. But can we do it once we get to the bed?”

“I’m literally, like, dead,” you can’t help the roll of your eyes at his dramatic statement. But you hold your tongue back at any other snide comments that might offend him further. Patience is the key with him, always. Complaining to him, as you did earlier, will only force him to act against your wishes.

He reaches the top with a huff and a hand on his bent knees, handing you the duffel bag that’s filled to the brim with your clothes and his.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” is your attempt at making the situation lighthearted and less serious than it needs to be.

“Still should have booked a hotel, instead,” his nose scrunches in obvious dismay.

“For the last time, I thought—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” gone is the Taehyung of previous, whose tiredness begins with softness around his personality. It’s not unusual for him to get cranky after being jet-lagged. But hey, guess what, so are you!

You ignore him for fear of escalation as you make your way inside. A quiet chime of the bell signals your arrival, and your gaze meets a familiar set of doe eyes; someone you knew once upon a time in a place you can pinpoint exactly. His expression mirrors that of your surprised one as he tries to figure you out. It wouldn’t surprise you if he doesn’t recognize you as you did him.

It’s Taehyung who breaks your state of bewitchment when his shoulder bumps into your arms as he jogs towards the receiving desk.

“Hey, stranger! How long has it been?” Taehyung exclaims a little too loudly, his state of disarray seemingly vanishing in a flash. With the roll of your luggage as a guide, you follow after him, standing nimbly behind the shadow of his confidence.

“Since we graduated high school? Probably ten years,” he says humorously.

“That long, huh? Damn.”

They fall into a small talk which is somewhat out of sync, which is understandable considering the amount of time they haven't been in contact with each other. No matter how close they had been during their teenage years, some words are hard to come by more than others.

He suddenly calls your name out in a greeting, and you peak over Taehyung’s shoulder with a small wave of your hand. “Hey, Jungkook.”

His smile is gentle, and your mood shifts entirely.

“Are you back here on a trip?”

It’s clear the question was directed to you, but Taehyung absolves you the courtesy of answering. “Actually, it’s a work-related thing. She wanted to tag along.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” you say with a strained chuckle, and Jungkook glances between you and Taehyung.

“Ah, I see. In any case, I’ll get out of your hair,” he slides a pair of keys in your direction. “It’s well past midnight, so I’m sure you guys are tired from your flight.”

Taehyung snatches it up, and it falls into the pocket of his slacks with a soft jingle. He thanks him with enthusiasm before turning towards the direction of the elevator.

“Hope I see you around. Have good night.”

Something about your greeting has Jungkook’s eyebrows creasing in discomfort for a split second before he gives you a small nod. “I’ll be here if you need anything else.”

But he isn’t there to greet patrons by the next morning when you go down for your complimentary breakfast. Taehyung did not join you, opting for an extended hour of sleep. You didn’t mind, but you couldn’t lay aimless in bed for too long; you’ve always been a morning person, after all.

So you sit by your lonesome in the vast dining area, surrounded by an old couple in one corner and a young family of four in the other. The two children fight for the last remaining pancake while the parents share a hushed discussion. You glance down at your warm abalone porridge.

There was a time when you imagined such a life with Taehyung—a family you can call your own. Of course, it’s by no means too late for you; at the tender age of twenty-eight, you know that life still has a lot to offer. But approaching three years into your marriage, Taehyung does not present any hints of wanting such a future with you. Sure, the topic has been brought about occasionally, but never serious enough to be considered anything but a passing daydream.

“I hate to break it to you, but that soup isn’t going to give you the answers to your most pressing question, even if you stare at it like that.”

You look up to see Jungkook wearing an amused expression, carrying a plastic bag on his right hand. He follows your trail of gaze and lifts the item into view.

“I might have raided the kitchen before my shift is over. Don’t tell a single soul,” his gaze holds differently, but the smile he wears is the same one from his youth.

“Cross my heart,” you humour him, and his grin grows wider. “Have a safe trip home.”

His nose wrinkles in contemplation. “If you mean be careful going up the stairs to my room, then sure, I will.”

Your brows lift in confusion, “You rent here?”

“You could say that. I own this place,” the chair scrapes against the tiled floors as he welcomes himself into your bubble. “Well, sort of. My parents own this, but my older brother and I manage it.”

“You should have said so earlier!” you chuckle, placing your chin on your palm as you turn to face him. “I would have asked for a discount.”

“Ouch, this is exactly why I didn’t do that in the first place. It’s opportunists like you that I’m terrified of.”

“Okay, Richie Rich, I knew you were always a selfish prick even then.”

“Hah!” he exclaims, leaning closer. “I’m well aware of my reputation back then, and none of them was ‘selfish’. In fact, there was always a lot of me to go around.”

“I highly doubt that, somehow.”

“You wouldn’t know,” he says in a casual tone while crossing his arms in front of his chest. He gives you a knowing look. “You were always with Taehyung.”

“I was, wasn’t I?” you mumble against your palm, your voice growing quiet. Your ring suddenly feels heavy on your finger.

“Mhm, that’s why I wasn’t surprised when I heard you two got married a few years back. In another country, no less. Congratulations, by the way,” his tone softens, mirroring your sudden predisposition for a hushed conversation.

“Thank you,” you give him a genuine smile. “Married life is…”

“Different?” he offers, and you nod wordlessly. You would’ve chosen a different word for it, but you’re glad he finished the sentence for you. “All my other friends who’re in the same situation say so.”

“And you?”

He wears the same troubled expression from hours ago, but only for a brief moment. He mimics your posture as his face lights up with the biggest smile you’ve seen him wear. You know that expression; there was a point in time where you’d wear the same elated look when someone asks you about Taehyung.

“Long-distance. But we’ve been together for a couple of years,” he hesitates briefly, before continuing. “I’m leaving in less than two weeks to move in with her.”

“Where to?”

He reveals the name in a hushed tone, almost as if it’s meant to stay a secret between the two of you.

Your eyes widen with bewilderment, and he grins sheepishly. “Wow, that’s—”

“Halfway across the world? I know.”

It’s only when there’s a pause that you realize what your intended purpose is. So you dig a spoonful of the soup and chase the heat away with a quick blow before taking a quick bite.

“You’re really here just to tag along with Taehyung?”

You look at him in surprise, not expecting the subject to be brought out once again. “Not really. We um…”

You hesitate, unsure whether to share your thoughts or not. But Jungkook is neither a friend nor a stranger and is possibly the perfect candidate. There’s nothing that binds you to him and in a few weeks, you’d be back to being strangers. Perhaps he wouldn’t even remember your story.

“We didn’t really have an official honeymoon after our marriage, and this was supposed to be it,” you chuckle, trying to play the situation off nonchalantly. “He sort of double-booked because he couldn’t turn down this gig.”

“That seems shitty, to be honest.”

You’re taken aback by the ruggedness of his tone, and you immediately jump to defend Taehyung. “It’s fine, honestly. It’s been a while since I’ve been back home.”

“Yeah, you missed out on our high school reunion just by a month,” his aura is lighthearted once more, and you’re glad for it.

“You went?”

“Nah, there was nothing good to reminisce about high school.”

You turn to him with your mouth agape. “This is coming from the captain of the football team, Jeon Jungkook?”

“Ah, come on, stop with the teasing,” he says as he rolls his shoulder back, before clearing his throat. “It just so happened that I was good at kicking. And running. And scoring goals.”

Undeterred by his boasting, you give him a sly smirk. “I’m sure you revelled in the attention. There was enough of you to get around, you said?”

“Now you get it.”

You giggle and he laughs along with you. The interaction gives you a certain heaviness within your chest but at the same time, you feel lightheaded, almost as if you’re about to soar towards the heavens.

“I should go catch some sleep,” he says once your euphoria dies down. “I’ve had a long evening.”

“I’ll let you get to it, then,” you say almost wistfully. He mumbles a quiet later! and you allow your gaze to follow his movement.

“Don’t get lost on your way.”

He looks back and motions a mock salute. “I’ll come knocking on your door if I need help with directions.”

However, three days go by without seeing Jungkook; not in his usual spot at the entrance of the building, and nowhere near the kitchen or the lounge area. Although you weren’t looking for him by any means because Taehyung constantly kept you busy, dragging you from place to place to take cityscape photos for his client. Despite the constant travelling, it’s hard to enjoy the scenery when the affair appears to be completely one-sided.

There’s no mistaking the fact you’re extremely proud and gratified that Taehyung pours his heart and soul into each project he throws himself at. But would it hurt that much for him to point his lenses towards your direction even just once? Surely, your whole trip will not consist of you constantly waiting on him.

He must’ve noticed your affliction because suddenly the weight of his stare begins to feel heavier each quiet second that passes.

“Bored yet?” he asks, left hand on the wheel and the other placed on the knob to change the car’s gear. Your eyes flit back to him and his right palm opens for you to take. With your fingers interlocked, he places a soft kiss on your knuckles.

It’s difficult to harbour resentment towards him when he makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter with merely the tiniest of gestures.

“With you? Never.”

He chuckles, and you feel the rumbling of his chest as he presses the back of your hand against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat doesn’t match your erratic, nervous one.

“Hm, you should have said yes. I was going to save you of having to come with me later,” his tone is playful, and a small smile adorns his flushed lips.

“What’s happening later?” you shift in the passenger seat to face him.

“The dinner with Min, my client. I told you, remember?”

You carefully sift through your mind regarding your recent conversations with him. You recall them being short and clipped, sure, but none told you of a certain meeting with somebody else. So, you tell him in earnest, “No.”

“I’m sure you’re just forgetting,” his grip on you loosens, and you reclaim your hand before it falls on his lap.

No, you’re one-hundred-percent certain you would remember something as important as that. Yet you don’t tell him so and instead, you yield with a wordless nod.

“You mean to tell me you’re going to miss out on having takeout dinner with me?” you ask, attempting to humour him, but your tone mistakenly comes out tasting bitter on your tongue. The silence that ensues sears into your brain like the afternoon Seoul sun, prickly and scorching hot to the touch.

“You can come with, if that’s what you want. I’ll tell you in advance that it’s going to be boring, though, since we’re going to talk about work.”

Somewhere along the line, you presume Taehyung has developed the proclivity towards telling pretence with a straight face. It catches you off guard when you join him for the much-anticipated dinner that he apparently told you about. It’s not the fact that “Min” turns out to be a woman — you have no qualms about that. Taehyung is somebody who could make acquaintances with somebody while waiting in line for their prescription in a pharmacy. Rather, it’s the way he prepped you for the oncoming conversation or your lack of inclusion in any of them, for that matter.

Introductions aside, you found her to be amicable and friendly. But afterwards, you fell behind two steps as they divulged into a topic other than work. Despite the premise that the chat would be boring, Taehyung is deeply engrossed in whichever story she decided to share. You didn’t have quite the energy to match theirs, so instead of playing catch up, you decided to stop walking altogether. You watch as their figures grow smaller on the horizon, not even bothering to look back and ask if you’d like to join them.

She laughs at something Taehyung says and automatically reaches to grab his arm as she giggles along with him. When she makes eye contact with you, instinct tells you to force a smile. And you did, uncaring if she perceives your gesture to be nothing but utter bullshit.

You busy yourself with studying the restaurant instead as you pensively wait for food to be served. The dim lights of the room create a warm ambience — romantic, almost.

The gears in your brain stop turning as they click into place. Your pulse gums with vigour as you feel the sweat seeping through the pores of your palms. Suddenly, the vast expanse of the dining hall feels suffocating; there’s no room for you. To breathe, to feel, to be.

“I’ve got to go.”

You suddenly feel lightheaded as you begin seeing multiples of dark spots, clouding your vision. The floor caving beneath you, and you struggle to keep afloat.

“What?” Taehyung looks at you with wide eyes but makes no move to hold you back from gathering your things.

“I forgot I was supposed to meet a friend today,” you say with self-assurance, miming the same expression he wore when he lied: I told you, remember?

Taehyung stands when you move away from the table and hope blooms dangerously in your chest; your wish for him to hold you back and stop you from leaving begins to permeate.

(Though in hindsight, you should have known better.)

“I’ll call a cab for you.”

Static fills the void, and for the first time in his life, Jungkook fears the silence rather than basking in it. He’s unsure when his words began to fail him; is it because he’s nervous he’ll slip up and say the wrong thing? Truly, at this point, being seen as the bad guy should be the least of his concerns.

Because as far as any human with a functioning brain thinks, he’s already fucked up in more ways than one. There’s no returning from the level of hell he’s put himself in.

“Are you still there?”

Her voice is patient, but he can tell she’s apprehensive.

“Uh, yes—just, thinking.”

There’s a brief pause before an accusatory, “Look, if you’re having second thoughts then maybe it’s too early.”

He immediately leaps from the couch of the empty lounge area. It’s a little past eleven at night, so everyone is either already in their rooms or out enjoying the city, which gives Jungkook a leg room for privacy.

“What? No, that’s not it!”

Two years isn’t too damn early. He feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime; tired of the time difference, tired of the distance, tired of being deprived of touch. Tired of the same old city, with the same predictable people. Everything around him is starting to feel foreign; the steps that lead to the bed and breakfast lodging, the corner street that sells the best tteokbokki he’s ever tasted in his life, the crosswalk that has malfunctioning lights which should be a public safety hazard but at this point he thinks will never be fixed. It’s all mundane, cycling through the same wheel of routine.

He no longer wants to feel apathetic when he faces his future while he houses resentment on his present self milling around aimlessly. She’s his only ticket to escape, so he better stop fucking around and tell her the truth.

But where to begin?

“Listen, I—”

“Whatever it is, can you please just say it? I’m leaving for work soon.”

He takes two steps back, for fear of retribution. Is he ready to ruin the entirety of her day?

“Never mind. I’ll talk to you later. Have a great day at work.”

She heaves a sigh, and preemptively ends the call.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he mumbles as he stares at his phone with her name printed in big letters across the screen. He contemplates pressing the call button and finally telling her everything—her work be damned. He knows that he owes her the truth at the very least.

But you come barrelling down the door, barefoot as you clutch your heels safely between your armpit. You’re dressed formally, yet casual enough for a nice dinner outside plenty of Seoul’s restaurants. But the slight stutter in your step and your somewhat dishevelled hair tells Jungkook all he needs to know. He doesn’t have to hazard a guess.

“Jungkook!” you raise your arms as you exclaim, and the wooden floor welcomes your shoes with a loud thud. “It’s been so long. What are you doing here?”

He laughs, not because of your deeply inebriated state, but because of your inquiry. What the hell am I doing here? He’s been asking himself that very same question without an answer in sight for a while now.

Though he doesn’t have time to answer because you almost knock him over when you skid over to wrap your arms around his neck. His senses are overwhelmed with the pungent smell of liquor, mixed with a subtle hint of rose water.

“I miss you.”

Jungkook is perplexed by your brutal honesty, to say the least. Though he knows to excuse any action while somebody is foolishly drunk, so long as they are not harming anybody or themselves. You grow quiet, and Jungkook is about to ask where you’ve been when he feels dampness on the front of his button-up shirt. He looks down and sees you visibly shaking, before grabbing at his sleeves seemingly for physical support.

It’s when you ask, with conviction, “Why did you hold me back?” that he realizes you aren’t referring to him. So, he wordlessly wraps his arms around you as he pats your back reassuringly. He doesn’t mind that you began sobbing louder, not even when a guest comes through the door and gives him a perplexed expression. He simply nods in their direction as a form of acknowledgement before giving a tight-lipped smile.

When minutes pass and Taehyung doesn’t arrive, he puts two and two together and concludes that he had to be the reason. His heart squeezes painfully as you attempt to swallow a sob which ends up sounding more agonizing and hollowed, carrying with them the weight of all the sorrow you’ve seemingly piled up.

When your cries are reduced to soft hiccups, you pull away from him with a quiet apology. Jungkook shakes his head as he places his palms delicately against your face before wiping the remnants of your sorrow away from your cheeks.

“Better?”

“No,” you sniffle. “I feel like shit.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I wanna go out again. Will you come with me?” you look up at him, bleary eyes pleading. Jungkook dips his chin as he guides you to sit on the leather couch, which you thankfully follow.

“At this rate, you’re going to pass out before we step foot outside the building.” With a sigh, he crouches down to reach eye level with you. “Do you need to puke?”

“I already did that after getting off the cab earlier, I think.”

“Okay then, wait here.”

You nod wordlessly and he goes to pick up your discarded shoes before placing it near your naked feet. He unlocks his phone as he makes his way to the dining hall, dialling a familiar number.

“Jaehyun?” he asks after the third ring. “Can you come earlier for your shift? Something came up.”

When he’s sure someone is going to take over for him, he makes his round in the empty kitchen, grabbing whatever he thinks might be immediately necessary: clean towels, an empty bucket in case of an emergency, and a glass of water.

You’re placid when he returns, eyes puffed out and red as you stare at nothing in particular. He hands you the water and you immediately finish it before he can blink.

You mumble a quick apology as he exchanges the empty glass for the clean towel.

“Don’t worry about it. This will all be billed towards room service.”

You chuckle and throw him back the towel which lands squarely on his face.

“Not funny.”

“I’m dead serious. Look at this damage on my shirt!” he points at the makeup smear accusingly, causing an escalation in your laughter. But the tears return, and you wordlessly wipe them with your palms.

“Come,” he offers his hand for you to take. “You have to eat.”

You stare wordlessly at it for a while, before taking it and pulling yourself to stand. You’re wobbly on your feet, and Jungkook tightens his grip on your hand in an attempt to steady you.

“I can’t go out like this,” you mumble. Jungkook nods in agreement as he wears a playful grin. You nudge his side, brows furrowed and lips forming into a pout. “I know I look like a mess. No need to rub it in.”

“I never said anything,” he chuckles. “Weren’t you the one asking to go out again?”

“I still do. But don’t worry,” you pat the back of his hand reassuringly. “You don’t have to come with.”

“I haven’t noticed Taehyung pass through yet, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jungkook watches your expression morph back into a blank stare. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, after all. His mind scrambles to quickly divulge the topic. “Where do you want to go? I already called my replacement at the front desk—”

“I know this is a bed and breakfast and not a hotel, but you guys have liquor, right?”

You’ve somehow convinced Jungkook to siphon a bottle of whiskey and a few cans of beer from the lodging’s inventory. Though he can quite happily admit that it didn’t take much to get him on board. But he technically can’t be seen drinking and lounging on the job for morale’s sake, so he sneaks in some food along with the alcohol — and you — back to his room. Although Jaehyun did catch you and Jungkook on the way up.

(He promises a wage increase if Jaehyun doesn’t say anything to Jungkook’s older brother. You didn’t have to but since you offered, I’ll take it, the latter said.)

“Apologies for the mess,” he mutters, holding the door with his foot as he welcomes you. He turns on the lamp instead of the main lights since they’re less obtrusive to the eye.

“Are you kidding?” you stumble in, trying not to drop the cans of beer you’re holding. “This place is practically spotless. You have bodies in your closet, don’t you?”

Jungkook laughs as he makes a beeline for the makeshift table sitting between his pseudo-living-room-slash-bedroom and kitchen—

“Wait, you have a kitchen?”

Jungkook isn’t sure if you’re perplexed or amazed. He shrugs nonchalantly either way.

“Perks of being part-owner, I guess?”

He haphazardly throws a blanket and a pillow near the table for you to sit in, but apparently, you have other plans and proceed to make a home for yourself in his bed. You bury your head in the sheets, mumbling, “It smells good.”

“I change the sheets every month,” he boasts rather proudly; all part of his routine.

“I should definitely check that closet.”

“By all means,” he grins, plopping down in front of the table. He’s yet to have dinner, so his intentions to get food and beer had been partly selfish. Jungkook turns to you, now laying on your side, sullen eyes already studying him. He quickly looks away and grabs a spoon before holding it up.

“Food? You’re probably hungry, right? I know I’m always craving, especially after a good cry. Not that I cry often, but doing so from time to time doesn’t hurt either, I suppose. I hope that doesn’t sound too weird—I know there’s this stigma around men and crying but honestly, it’s all such bullshit. We are born into the world crying, it’s literally the first thing we do as humans. Anyway, do you fancy some beef and white rice? I know it’s not much, but...what are you laughing for?”

Jungkook watches you descend into hysteria, clutching your stomach as your giggles turn silent, but your shoulders are still visibly shaking. You heave for air, turning over so your back is face to him.

“If I knew I was this funny, I would have switched careers,” he mumbles, though loud enough for you to hear, as he stuffs his face with rice.

“It’s not too late,” you reply with a sniffle. “You can still change your mind.”

“That’s true, I suppose. Don’t they have that saying that goes ‘a fickle heart is the only constant in this world’ or something?”

Your head whips back towards him, swollen eyes wide in astonishment. “Did you just quote Howl’s Moving Castle?”

His nose scrunches up in deep thought. “Maybe? I did watch it recently.”

“You’re an odd one, Jeon Jungkook,” you muse quietly, eyes mimicking one of the phases of the moon as you grin.

“Says the person who’s soiling my fresh linen with her tears,” he says playfully. But there’s no reply this time around, and he quickly backtracks. “It’s okay to laugh at that one—it was a joke. A very terrible one, apparently.”

“No. You’re quite spot on, actually.”

Jungkook doesn’t speak for a while, unsure whether he should be overstepping the boundary more than he should have. But he looks at your vulnerable state, splayed across his bed, and thinks all formalities are out the window at this point. Despite the previous state of your relationship with him, or otherwise the lack of it, this would probably constitute friendship. Therefore, as a friend, it’s his moral duty to rid you of your throes and woes, even just a little.

“Where did you go, anyway? Must have been fun if you got all shit-faced like this.”

Keeping the tone airy is probably the best way to go as an introduction.

“Just a pub. I didn’t want to go clubbing by myself, it could have been dangerous.”

Jungkook’s forehead creases with worry, and he holds himself back from the question that he’s burning to ask: Then where the hell is Kim Taehyung? He reserves the right to be outright angry because he knows it’s not his place to. He reaches for the can of beer, which hisses in frustration when he opens it.

“You don’t have friends in the city?” he asks, hoping you will not take offence at his question. You shrug.

“I didn’t really keep in touch with anyone after moving away. It felt weird asking someone out of the blue.”

“You could have called me,” he says without much thought.

“I seriously considered it, but…” you trail off, leaving Jungkook to fill the void himself. He doesn’t mind that he probably didn’t cross your mind as a go-to person to call in times of crisis. “I heard you were quite the party pooper in high school, so I had my doubts.”

“Hey!” he protests, but you ignore him and continue. He doesn’t disagree, of course, but being called out is not a fun experience whether it came from a drunk acquaintance or not.

“New in town, straight-A student—but to be fair, quite good-looking and athletic to boot. My god, all my friends had a stupid on crush on you.”

Jungkook’s cheeks grow warm with embarrassment at the deluge of compliments. “Me? With gangly limbs and an awful bowl-cut? Who couldn’t even get a single word out to anybody, especially girls, without stuttering? That Jungkook?”

“You need to give yourself a little more credit than that, Jeon.” You’re facing him once again, both hands tucked neatly beneath your head.

He nods as an acknowledgement but swiftly changes the subject. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat, though? I’m halfway through this already.”

“I’m sure. I think I’ll probably just nap, then go,” you chuckle. Jungkook can only offer you a rueful smile. He doesn’t mind if you’re unwilling to share the whole spiel of what caused you to be miserable enough to drink by yourself. He’s quite well-versed in that area, after all. It doesn’t solve anything, sure, but it’s enough to numb the feeling of being alone with his thoughts. He doesn’t have to guess who the root of it is, though.

He sighs as he turns on the television, before lowering it down to a manageably quiet level where it will not disturb your sleep. He doesn’t have a particular show in mind to watch, but having the mindless static accompany him is more than enough.

“I lied,” you begin after several minutes of silence. “I can’t sleep.”

“That’s because you’re doing it wrong,” he motions for you to move over as he walks closer to the bed. You follow his instruction, and he peels a layer of the bedsheet. Jungkook laughs as you scramble to get under it. “Better now?”

You didn’t answer but instead, lift your head from the sheets before nodding. He’s overcome with a sense of assurance when he sees your peaceful, content expression.

He hasn’t so much as turned his back on you when you call his name out once more.

“Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Just make sure you leave us a five-star rating.”

He grins just as you crack one eye open. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. We need that public approval to keep running,” he watches the corner of your lips twitch in amusement as you settle back comfortably into the futon with a nod.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

“Was I wrong? For feeling wanted, I mean.”

Your question catches him by surprise; suddenly the hardwood floor beneath him begins to feel cold against his feet. Instead of returning to his previous spot, he carefully sits on the edge of the bed as the springs creak from his weight. He pulls both his legs underneath him; he couldn’t quite face you, so he stares at the television, instead.

“I don’t think so. We all crave validation, more so from our partners than anybody else. I think it’s natural. Otherwise, it’s pointless.”

“Pointless,” you echo softly.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t work it out, though. Part of it is communicating your needs to each other.”

Hypocrite, Jungkook says to himself. It’s laughable, the level of bullshit he allows himself to bask in. What’s the point of giving someone else advice, when he can’t even get his shit together?

“You have to be truthful because the other person might not know what you want.”

“I know that,” your voice is shaky when you speak. Jungkook hedges his bet and assumes that you began crying once more; he didn’t need to look back to confirm. “I guess I’m just scared of facing the outcome of the confrontation when it does happen.”

“You don’t want to be abandoned when shit hits the fan,” he says more to himself than you.

“Exactly. I don’t even know when it began. One day I just woke up and,” you pause, and Jungkook hears you sniffle. “And everything felt so unfamiliar. The places—the people I thought I knew. It’s like I dissociated from my body, and I've just been on autopilot ever since.”

You pause, and Jungkook continues for you. “And you thought going along with the flow would fix things, but it feels even more jarring because you’ve lost that sense of familiarity.”

“Yeah, exactly. I thought coming here would somehow magically restore everything, but quite the opposite, actually. I guess running away from it doesn’t solve anything,” you chuckle bitterly. He slowly shifts on the bed to face you.

For the first time in a long time, Jungkook feels seen; like someone has found the lock to the door he threw away so long ago. Your words continuously play on a loop in his mind, forcing him to look at the actions he’s been taking. Certainly, he’s not racing away from himself by choosing to move to a different country despite his parents’ protest, is he? What about the fact that he chooses not to tell her, the supposed love of his life, about the fact that he’d felt so deprived that he couldn’t resist the temptation to have sex with someone else? And to top it all off, he doesn’t have the guts to tell her.

Jungkook knows he doesn't deserve the right to sit there and tell you what to do when he doesn’t dare to be honest in his relationship.

When you’ve cried your eyes dry and the evenness of your breathing signifies you’re fast asleep, Jungkook gently moves from his spot on the bed. He grabs the phone that has been idly on top of the table, before heading to the bathroom and closing the door shut. No matter the outcome of the conversation, she deserves the truth.

Jungkook inhales deeply and presses the call button.

You rise before daybreak, and at a glance, Jungkook is nowhere to be found. There’s a painful throb on the side of your head as you sit up, and you ignore it as you untangle yourself from the sheets. With the help of the lights from the television, you find him splayed across the couch not too far from where you stand. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had on a few hours ago, and guilt creeps up quicker than you anticipated it to.

You untuck the blanket you’ve used from his bed before walking towards him, careful not to disturb his slumber.

“I apologize for bothering you,” you mumble as you lay the blanket softly on top of him. You didn’t think to wake him before your departure; you already told him that you were set to leave after a short nap, anyway.

Hurriedly, you exit his room, forgetting that you’re completely barefoot. It’s fine, it’s just a few floors down, anyway.

The short elevator ride gives you little room to prepare for what you’re going to tell Taehyung. You glance at the phone you’ve been keeping on ‘do not disturb’ to find two missed calls from him a few hours prior. You just hope he’s already asleep by the time you get to your room.

You’re relieved when you enter and the lights are turned off. It feels juvenile to be sneaking around as you use your phone’s light to pick up a discarded shirt before stripping away your clothes and hurriedly putting it on.

Taehyung’s body is turned towards the wall as he hugs the pillow tightly against his body. Seeing him tranquil and at peace shifts your mood, as if all the frustration you feel dissipates within an instant. You slide under the covers, careful not to disturb him but he shifts at your presence anyway. He forgoes the pillow, snaking his arms around your waist instead as he inches closer.

“Where have you been?” he murmurs sleepily against your ear.

“Just...here.”

He doesn’t ask further and you don’t elaborate, thinking that he’s fallen back asleep. A part of you is glad for the unadulterated freedom he’s giving you. But there’s a sudden feeling of optimism; perhaps the sensation of loneliness will pass, and that you’re merely being dramatic (for the lack of better term). Once again you’re lulled into complacency. But it’s never a bad thing to just hope for the best, right?

But Taehyung is gone by noon when you finally have the decency to peel yourself off the bed. There’s a simple text from several hours ago that reads: Didn’t want to disturb you. Call me later.

You do exactly that, but it takes you straight to voicemail. Twice. Three times.

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach, but you try not to read into the situation too much.

“It’s fine, I wanted a day to go around by myself anyway,” you say out loud, uncaring if the walls are the only ones hearing you out. You fall back into the mattress, knowing the eagerness to get ready will not come unless there’s anybody to encourage.

But it seems like you didn’t have to wait for your saving grace for too long because your phone rings and you immediately roll over to reach for it.

Your heart sinks when you read the caller ID, but you grin and answer the call, anyway.

“Hey, Mom.”

She answers back cheerily, before divulging into her familiar list of questions; the usual how are you’s and the have you been eating well’s. When she finally inquires about Taehyung, you answer hesitantly.

“He’s out for work. You know how it is.”

She sighs and you wince, regretting your choice of tone. “Did you argue again?”

“No! That’s not it at all. I’m just—”

“Whatever it is, just be patient with him,” she admonishes. Your grip on the phone tightens. Right, because that very same rhetoric did nothing to salvage your marriage with Dad. It had been one of the reasons why you decided to move away after high school in the first place. Your mother managed to convince you to move in with her, stating that she wanted to make up for being absent most of your youth.

A different country. Foreign places to see, people to meet. The thrill of it all had been enough to convince you to depart the only place you knew your entire life. But part of the reason why you agreed had been because you were growing weary of living with your father’s new family. There was never a sense of belonging that tied you to Seoul despite spending all your life there.

Except for Taehyung.

He followed you five years later, like a fool in love. Then you decided to get married two years after rekindling your relationship. Three years since then, it feels like you’re floating in between two sides of the same coin with him, neither in bliss nor in terror.

“I know,” you chew your bottom lip. Fear is catching fire in your chest, and you smother it quickly so it will not disperse and reach your heart. “I’m trying.”

She switches the topic quicker than you can wipe the tears that manage to fall, and soon enough she’s complaining to you about having to come out for late lunch with her friends. Your answers are short and subdued, just enough to let her know that you’re still there, but your mind is itching to run somewhere else. Before she hangs up, you give her a gentle reminder to check on your apartment. She promises not to forget.

“Have fun, dear! Don’t forget to visit the places I told you about.”

“You act as if I didn’t live here before,” she chuckles at your unintended humour. “But don’t worry, I won’t.”

The line cuts after a short goodbye, and you welcome silence with a long sigh. It seems like there’s a lot on the list for you to finish: get some food to cure your hangover, take a nap, and then another after waking up. The prospect of going out alone is more daunting than it seems, therefore, staying in feels like it’s the best option.

Suddenly, a fleeting thought crosses your mind. You could have called me.

You instinctively reach for the telephone by the bedside table and dial his room number, fresh and vivid in your memory.

It takes half an hour to get to the destination Jungkook suggested. He agreed that you’ll treat him to (a very late afternoon) lunch if he picks the place.

“No way, it’s still here!” you exclaim as soon as you step foot off the cab. Waves of nostalgia come trickling in one by one, then hits you all at once when you open the door. Your senses are overwhelmed with familiar spices as soon as you push the door open. You look back and beam at Jungkook, who’s watching you with a small smile.

It’s only when you’re seated and have ordered that Jungkook clears his throat before saying, “I’m glad you still remember.”

You gawk at him, before crossing your legs firmly beneath you.

“Are you kidding? They have the best bibimbap and tofu stew. I was here almost every night especially during the exam period.”

“I know,” he says with confidence and you eye him with suspicion. “I mean, it was tough not to. You were always so loud around your friends.”

You scoff at him despite you knowing it to be true, but Jungkook takes no offence to it as he grins.

“It’s called having fun. You should try it sometime,” you point at him with your spoon.

“I am having fun with—”

“If you say ‘with you’, I swear to god you’re going to pay for the food instead,” you warn him despite a smile threatening to break from your lips.

“With you,” he emphasizes the phrase almost mockingly. You murmur the word “impossible” under your breath as you feel the tips of your ears grow warm.

Although the comment seems gratuitous at the time of its conception, to Jungkook’s credit you also come to enjoy time spent with him. Perhaps it’s the fact that he stands between novelty and familiarity that you fall into an easy discourse with him; you didn’t have to choose your words too carefully or worry that he might think ill of you based on what you say. There’s no seed of doubt and no root cause of anxiety.

You can’t help but find it odd, nevertheless.

Jungkook, whom you’ve never shared more than two lines before your current interaction with him. You’d never have thought in a million years you’d confide in somebody who used to give you odd stares and unfriendly glares when you passed by him in the halls of your high school. The past you would gawk, confused as to how he manages to coax even the tiniest smile out of you.

You’re about to point out that very fact to Jungkook when your phone rings and you’re immediately reprieved back out of the comfort of his presence.

It’s Taehyung, and you immediately answer.

“Babe, don’t freak out, but I’m currently in Daegu. Crazy! I know, I know. But remember I told you last night about—”

He begins listing names you recall hearing in passing. But it didn’t matter, because you stop paying attention after hearing where his current location is.

“—is why I couldn’t answer your call. But don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, probably.”

You watch Jungkook shift in his seat as he asks you if everything’s all right. You nod instinctively.

“Okay.”

“Cool. I’ll call you again later after we get settled. Love you.”

“Mhm.”

He must have been in a hurry because the call cuts before you could get another word in. Although you didn’t attempt to answer longer than a few sentences in the first place, afraid that the quiver in your voice will reveal the hurt and anger that has slowly been piling up one by one.

Jungkook thinks you’re a dam that’s overfilled and just about ready to burst. He’s afraid because you seem overly happy, obviously overcompensating for the devastation he had seen in your eyes hours prior to your call. He needn’t guess who it had been on the other side. Although he doesn’t know what Taehyung said, it’s enough to send you in a frantic search for your sanity.

This begins with you asking him to go to a karaoke bar with you, before proceeding to order several drinks. It’s on me, Jeon! I owe you lots, you declare before proceeding to down a whole glass of beer in one go.

Within the privacy the four walls of the room bring, you pour your energy into one upbeat song after another, seemingly uncaring of Jungkook’s presence. That is until your umpteenth song ends, and you turn away from the screen dramatically and towards him to hand him the mic.

“Your turn!”

“Great, I thought you’d never ask,” he says sarcastically and you join him on the seat, giggling. He takes the remote and punches in his selected number as a familiar tune comes through the speakers. He looks at you as he begins to sing the lyrics of the verse, and you break out into a small grin.

“I’m trying to realize, it’s alright to not be fine…” he sings softly as your head gently leans on his shoulder. Jungkook lets you.

He does again on the cab ride to the pub for a late dinner. And again on the way home. The weight of your presence against him is most likely inconsequential to the heaviness you carry around with you. That’s why he’ll do his part even though he most likely doesn’t have to; anything to let you know you’re not alone. He just hopes you know.

“Jungkook,” your voice is quiet against his ear as he carries you up the concrete steps.

“Yes?” he adjusts you on his back, careful not to drop you. He’s only slightly inebriated, and he’s hoping there will be no accidents for him or you.

“Thank you.”

“Just leave us a—”

“Five-star rating,” hearing your laughter feels ticklish in his stomach. “I will.”

His older brother greets him with an odd look once he enters the door of the lobby, before asking, “Is this what you skipped work for?”

“I’m only cashing in my days off before a leave,” Jungkook points at the elevator with his chin.

“Yeah, yeah,” his brother says dismissively before pressing the button for Jungkook. Silence passes through them as they wait for the doors to open. “Is she the reason why you changed your mind?”

Jungkook feels the steady rhythm of your pulse against his back, which is kilometres away from his erratic heartbeat. He tries not to put too much thought into it; he did just carry you up several flights of stairs, after all.

The harsh ping of the bell saves him from answering, and the older didn’t press him any further. It’s only after he’s turned the keys to your room, safely placed you on the bed — but not before he falls back onto the spot beside you with a deep sigh — that he has the time to formulate an articulate response.

“I’d like to think I did it out of my own volition. But a lot has happened the last few days, and, well…” he trails off as he turns his body to face you, one hand tucked against his cheek as the other reaches out to comb a stray hair out of your face.

You stir under his touch but he doesn’t make the effort to move away.

“Seems like I owe you again, Jeon Jungkook,” you whisper, the words stringing together seemingly in an indecipherable sound. He manages to put the pieces together, nonetheless.

“You’re not under any obligation to repay me,” he grins when you peel your eyes open. “I don’t want to give you all the credit, but you might have saved me more than once.”

“How so?”

The reflection of the city lights chase away the dimness of the room, but they also reflect your eyes in a way that makes Jungkook think you’re holding the galaxy’s secrets within them.

“I was having this, sort of, midlife crisis—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” you place your elbow against the mattress as you lean your flushed cheeks against your palm. “Saying you’re having a midlife crisis now in your late twenties makes it seem like your life’s going to end in your sixties.”

He shrugs half-heartedly. The pessimist in him urges him to declare, “Who’s to say I won’t?”

“Boo! I hate this story already.”

“Buckle up, because it’s about to get worse,” he smiles wryly.

And Jungkook opens up his fresh wounds and bares his soul without pomp and flowery words. He watches your reaction intently, nonetheless, knowing well enough that by the end of the night, he might get kicked out of the halls. He’ll take the punishment kindly, since she didn’t have the chance to slap him when he could tell, despite the distance, that she would punch him square in the face.

“I know it’s wrong, and I’m not making any excuses for my actions.”

“I feel like I have no place to get angry at you. But strictly speaking, from a rational person’s point of view...fuck you.”

“I deserve no less,” he says, appreciating your candour. “That’s why last night, when you fell asleep, I told her everything. I realized that I had no place to speak of communicating when I’ve been holding out on the truth from her for a while now. You can only imagine how angry she is with me.” He swallows thickly, hating the way his throat constricts uncomfortably. Perhaps he did care about how you’ll view him, after all.

“Are you all right, though?”

The worry engraved in the crease between your brow disarms him; the unexpected delicacy in the way you ask him suddenly brings him into sobriety. After hearing the phrase I don’t want to see you, ever, he hasn’t had the time to process how he feels other than the guilt that continues to plague him. He’d buried heartbreak that comes along after losing somebody so quickly that realizing it now has him terrified of himself.

Has he truly reached the point where he’s incapable of feeling anything?

Or is it that somewhere between then and now, he’s fallen out of love with her and made excuses for himself so that it’s easier to let her hate him because he didn’t have the courage to break it off? Is it because he’s using her as an excuse — his ticket out of Seoul, out of the life he thinks to be mundane? Because if so, then he’s an even bigger scumbag than he originally thought.

“Jungkook?”

The warmth of your hand on his cheek salvages him from sinking into the bottomless depth of his thoughts.

“I can’t believe I strung her along for this long.”

Then it hits him all at once; an unavoidable freight train carrying the emotions he’s repressed himself from bearing. In him blossoms the violent need to abate the heaviness that began festering within the depths of his mind a long time ago.

One sob and you pull him against you. Two and you’re running your hands soothingly down the curves of his back. Three, and he’s clinging onto you for dear life as the uncontrollable cries consume him. He’s overcome by a sense of déjà vu as you wrap your arms tighter against him.

Jungkook lets you.

Again and again, he will selfishly welcome your presence, as if doing so would diminish him of any wrongdoings he has committed.

You drift in and out of consciousness, but the warm body stays unchanged beside you. Another aspect feels indifferent: The pounding headache constantly knocking against your temple. In hindsight, you probably need to stop drinking to the point where your body can’t handle the after-effects. Inhaling slowly puts your mind at ease as the scent of fresh lavender wafts over your senses; you’re immediately reminded of hanging freshly laundered sheets during a hot summer day. Only one person manages to conjure such specific and vivid imagery for you.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your body goes rigid at the feeling of his heavy arm draped across your waist. You slowly open your eyes, hoping that your initial hunch is wrong, and you’re merely dreaming that you let someone who’s neither a stranger nor a friend lay in bed with you.

But you’re met with his peaceful sleeping face, a stark difference between last night’s troubled and despaired Jungkook. For a split second, you let your mind wander with your heart amongst the perilous grounds of your imagination.

If picturing life with him is a sin, then there’s absolutely no saving you from entering the depths of hell.

(A tad bit over-dramatic on your part, but you believe you have the license to do so since you just woke up in the arms of someone else other than Taehyung.)

Despite the slight panic accentuated by the quick palpitations of your heartbeat, you make no genuine effort to move away. Bits of cynicism creeps up, either way, as you berate yourself for clinging onto anybody willing to keep you company.

But at this point, is Jungkook truly just ‘anybody’ to you? In a short period of time, you’ve managed to share more with him than you’ve had with Taehyung. With Jungkook, there’s nobody to compete for attention with.

So, what is holding you back from leaving the anguish behind and instead run straight on towards Jungkook? Is the sanctity of marriage you’ve sworn to uphold after seeing how it tore your own family apart enough of a reason to stay with him?

The answer sits on the tip of your tongue like a ripe fruit ready to burst.

Jungkook shifts his position as he raises one eyelid open before breaking out into a lazy grin. You return the gesture as you peel yourself away from his touch to sit upon the mattress and stretch your limbs wide.

“That was the best sleep I had in a while,” he admits.

“Maybe all you needed was a good cry.”

He gives you a knowing look. “Maybe.”

Silence ensues, and all of a sudden you’re unsure of what to tell him when minutes ago you allowed yourself to stare at him unabated. How exactly are you supposed to express gratification to the person who’s allowed themselves to be the unfortunate passenger to your rollercoaster of emotions? What’s more, is you’d done the same for him. Do you, then, without a need for more words, go back to how it had been previously and pretend nothing had happened?

You didn’t have much time to ponder because your phone vibrates in the back pocket of your jeans.

“What do you mean by ‘we need to talk’?”

“Good morning to you too, Taehyung,” you mumble. Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise, as if in sudden realization of something he’d forgotten. He moves off the bed and motions for the bathroom. You nod wordlessly. It almost slipped your mind that you sent him a somewhat vague text the night previous after Jungkook’s spiel. “It means exactly what it says. We need to talk when you get back. You are coming back, right?”

“What’s with the sudden hostility in your tone? Of course, I’m coming back.”

“I think I deserve to be a little hostile,” a sudden wave of bravery washes over you. “How exactly am I supposed to feel after you leave me without warning on our trip?”

“I told you—”

“Stop fucking lying to me, Kim Taehyung,” your voice breaks as tears blur your vision. “You never talk about anything with me anymore, and you know it.” There’s a certain pride you feel when he doesn’t respond right away. “I can’t talk to you about this on the phone. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Jungkook returns well after you’ve ended the call with Taehyung.

“I should probably get back to my room and change. I need to take over for my brother.”

You follow him towards the door, where he haphazardly puts on his shoes. When he stands, he gazes at you, eyes filled with tenderness. Your heart stutters. “Will you be okay?”

“Of course,” you offer him an encouraging smile, but he doesn’t return it. With one nod he’s out the door, and you watch as his figure retreats towards the elevator without so much as a wave, not knowing that would be the last you see of him for a while.

Taehyung’s arrival comes earlier than expected and catches you after your long shower, but says nothing to quell your worries. He merely sits on the bed and watches you pace around the room; for a comb one minute, then you put on lotion next, then you’re folding clothes to be laundered — anything to busy yourself from confrontation. It’s not that your courage has wavered, but rather your dignity prevents you from breaking first.

Yet as soon as your name rolls off his tongue, there’s a magnetic pull that has your feet nimbly walking to where he is.

“I’m sorry,” is all it takes from him for you to unravel completely. There’s no shortage of fresh, hot tears as he engulfs you against him. You bring your palms up to grab on his shirt tightly, before hitting his chest with no real intentions of hurting him. He doesn’t stop you but instead pulls back to place a chaste kiss on your forehead. Your arms fall nimbly to the side and Taehyung continues to mutter apologies one after the other, catching each teardrop before they reach the bottom of your ruddy cheeks.

He waits until you’ve stopped sobbing before you begin diving into a conversation that’s been long overdue. Slowly, the walls you’ve built around yourself begin to crumble brick by brick as the imperfections of your relationship reveal itself on the surface. It’s uncomfortable for him as much as it is for you to dredge up old wounds, evident by the way his eyes well up with tears, but it’s an intervention needed to regain what was, if possible.

Both you and Taehyung know one conversation is not enough to undo the fractures, but it’s a step closer towards salvation.

The end of your trip creeps up closer than you’d like. You stopped tagging along with Taehyung’s workdays because he agreed to go places with you. Days without him are spent milling around the neighbouring places of the bed and breakfast, which leads to your discovery of the best spicy rice cake just around the corner of the street. There is also the obligatory bike ride alone around the Han river, which proves to be more satisfactory than almost anything you’ve ever done.

You find yourself looking for Jungkook in-between the hours where your mind wanders and for a split second, all of your thoughts are suddenly dedicated to him. Deception comes in the form of denial when you push the aimless sentiments aside, afraid that you might get too carried away. It’s maddening to think that he only seems to show up in times of dire need as if the deity responsible for overlooking fate is playing tricks on you.

(Though you know that if you want to see him, the only thing you have to do is knock on his door. You dismiss that idea, either way, for fear of being too obtrusive.)

On the day of your departure, you wake up early to catch breakfast. You ask Taehyung if he wants to join you despite knowing the answer. He grunts in response but stays unmoving. You untangle yourself from the warmth of his body before placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

Food has been prepared once you’re in the dining area, but there’s nobody to be found. It immediately reminds you of the first morning of your arrival—the excited faces of the children and their parents who were engrossed in a serious conversation, and the elderly couple enjoying their morning of peace together. Two weeks have gone by, and you’re not even sure if they’re still here or if they’ve moved on to see other places, meet other people.

Inadvertently, you steal a glimpse of the kitchen door, waiting for it to swing open and reveal the one person whose smile you’ve been longing to witness one last time. You grin as you shake your head; your propensity towards wishful thinking never ceases to make you feel disheartened.

“Last time you were staring longingly at your soup, and today you’re smiling to yourself,” his voice cuts through your thoughts intrusively as he strolls in, dressed down in a pair of casual joggers and an ill-fitting shirt too big to possibly belong to him. “Hi.”

Your gaze meets his, and breathlessly, you say, “Hi.”

He doesn’t make any gesture that indicates he wants to sit and chat this time around.

“Been busy?”

“I could say the same about you,” your lips curl upwards in a small smile. There’s a landslide of things you want to ask him, topics you want to share. You want to thank him over and over, invite him for a meal or even a simple walk around town. But words seem to fail you as you shift your eyes to stare at your half-eaten plate of fruit slices.

“My older brother mentioned you’re leaving today,” he announces offhandedly, scratching the nape of his neck. You’d like to think he’s just as unsure as you on how to go about having a conversation. Is he also stumbling over his thoughts like you are?

“Uh, yeah—” you flick your wristwatch to check the time— “I just have to wake Taeyhung, and we’ll be on our way.” The rueful smile he gives you feels like a splinter prodding your heart. “You?”

“Oh, I was just on my way to grab something before heading to the gym.”

“Ah,” you nod. Unlike the last time you two shared a conversation in the same place, this one is marred by awkward pauses and long bouts of silence. Afraid this will cause him to leave, you promptly state, “I honestly thought you ended up leaving the country since I didn’t see much of you.”

“That was the plan, yes,” his smile finally reaches his eyes. “I was supposed to leave a week ago— I mean, I had already bought the tickets and despite how it ended with me and her, I still wanted to leave. But someone told me just because you try to run from your problems doesn’t mean it will not follow you there.”

You chuckle as you shake your head. He continues. “I feel like I owe it to her to grant her wishes of not wanting to see me, no matter how much I wanted to get out of this place. A lot of reasons compelled me to stay, and I think I’m better for it.”

When your gaze meets his, there’s an unstated agreement; a kinship that cannot be unbound, locked away in a time you can only revisit through your memory.

“With that being said, I might tour Europe in two months’ time, starting with Sweden,” he grins playfully, cheeks dotted with a dimple. You roll your eyes as you stand before shoving him lightly by the shoulder.

“Alright, Richie Rich, no need to rub it in. I get it, I get it.”

“You have me mistaken, Miss. This was a culmination of years of hard work and savings.”

“I’m happy for you,” you say with finality. No matter how much you did not want the conversation to end, there’s a twinge of sweetness to a farewell amidst the bleakness that often comes along; it doesn’t always have to end in thunder and rainfall.

But then he asks, “Are you happy for you?”

It might have been then, at that moment, where you’d willingly say blurt the phrase out loud, your situation be damned. But you didn’t—you couldn’t. Not when you nod wordlessly. Not when he opens his arms seemingly as a conclusion, a wordless action that says: I should probably let you go so I can also go about with my day. Instead, you carefully place the three words in your back pocket to be used later before you step into the warmth of his embrace.

He whispers a farewell and a promise that you know you’ll carry in your heart until the time fate allows you to meet again at another time and another place.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenario #taehyung scenario #jungkook x you #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #writing #taehyung #jungkook

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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Whumptober Day 27: Extreme Weather

CW: Environmental whump, references to drug and alcohol use, references to Derrick (see: The Break-Up for his last appearance), Kauri’s Bad Life Choices, slut-shaming, trauma response, untreated abuse survivor with fucky headspace, referenced abuse

When Krista opens the door, Kauri stands on the doorstep to her apartment soaked to the bone, water dripping off the flattened curls of his hair, stuck to his forehead. Water runs in rivulets down his cheeks like tears, drips from the sleeves of his sweater onto her doormat.

She’s proud of that doormat. She picked it out at Target and it says Shoes Off, Witches.

Krista decorates for every holiday, because she can, because the holidays belong to her. There are tiny pumpkins, alternately white and orange and painted with little patterns, lined up along the little railing on their concrete patio. She has little witch figurines in the centerpiece of the circular dining table she and Sonya found at a garage sale, and a Halloween wreath made of black and orange leaves hangs on the door.

Mrs. Richardson didn’t celebrate Halloween, because of something to do with celebrating our sinful natures and something something demonic influences hidden in seeming fun and the devil something harry potter witchcraft something, but Krista celebrates every holiday, just because she can.

Sometimes she thinks of Miss Alyssa and wonders if she celebrates Halloween, now, too.

“What are you doing here, Kauri?” Krista squints past him, shivering against the chill air even in her big soft purple sweatshirt. It had cost her six hours of work to pay for it, it was so expensive, but it’s the softest thing she’s ever felt in her life, like wearing a cloud with a hood on it everywhere she goes.

“Can I crash here?” Kauri blinks rainwater out of his eyes.

Behind him, the rainstorm that’s been going for nearly three days continues, pouring water like it’s falling from overturned buckets from the dark gray skies. “Sorry, they shut the buses down, it’d take me like five hours to walk to the shelter from here, and…” He rocks up and down on the balls of his feet, and Krista winces at the squelch from his thin black-and-white checked shoes.

Krista takes a deep breath, looking over her shoulder. Sonya is still in the bedroom, finishing up a call for work, speaking in her Phone Voice, softer and pleasant, with all the edges sanded off. When Krista was a pet, she spoke in a voice like that. Sonya speaks for her job to men who constantly interrupt her, but somehow when she does it, the voice is gentle but commanding, where Krista always felt her voice just sounded… weak. “I don’t know, Kauri, I’m not… I’m not sure.”

“Please?” Kauri’s eyes are huge and blue, and water frames them as it runs from his hair. He shudders, as a winter breeze blows at his back. A spatter of the tiniest water droplets is blown with it, and Krista blinks rapidly against the feeling. “Please? It’s just for tonight, they said the buses should be running tomorrow morning if it doesn’t get worse… please?”

“If it doesn’t get worse,” Krista repeats, her eyes scanning back into the parking lot. Someone drives past, their headlights on, and the rain falls in such thick sheets that Krista can only see their headlights, not even the car.

Who would drive, in something like this?

She looks back at Kauri, and figures maybe someone who would walk in rain like this, someone who doesn’t have a choice. Not every business is closed, after all, and not everyone can work from their laptop like Sonya. Not everyone can afford the days off if they call in. There are people who don’t have the option to stay safe from the floods. There are people who are told to risk their lives or they will not eat.

There are times Krista wonders how anyone doesn’t become a pet. At least she never had to watch a paycheck disappear from a bank account nearly as soon as it was deposited before.

Not that she knows of, anyway.

“It’s just overnight,” Kauri says, softly. “I know she doesn’t like me, but… but it’s just one night.”

She looks at him, in his soaked-up shoes, shivering in the rain and with his backpack dripping as hard as everything else, and then she sighs. The felt leaves on the Halloween wreath rustle against the door as she steps back and to the side. “Take your shoes off and stay on the mat, I’ll get you a towel to get you to the shower. I think you can probably wear some of my sleeping clothes.”

Kauri’s eyes brighten, and he kicks off his sopping shoes and peels off soaked-through white cotton socks. His toes are wrinkled from being wet for so long, and he spreads them with a sigh of relief against the rough doormat.

“Thank you, Krista, thank you so much-”

“Get inside,” She says, but her voice is gentle, and he steps in to stand on the inside doormat (this one just says I hope you brought tacos) while Krista walks away, across the soft beige-gray-nothing-color carpet in the apartment, swinging around the low-slung coffee table by the couch. She ducks into the small bathroom and grabs the towels off the towel rack.

Sonya calls out, “Baby, do I hear someone at the door?”

Krista hesitates, towels in hand - she bought them at Target, too, the bathroom is fall-themed and the towels are a deep saturated pumpkin orange and a hunter green and they have cream-colored stitching that reads thankful and choose joy - and looks towards the closed bedroom door. “Um, yes. You remember Kauri Grant?”

There’s a pause, and then the bedroom door cracks open, and Sonya peeks through. Her short, straight brown hair is pulled back with clips to keep it out of her eyes, and she’s still in her pajama pants and t-shirt from last night. “That druggie friend of yours? The homeless guy?”

Krista shakes her head, nervously twisting the bunched-up towels in her hands. “He’s, he’s not-... he’s not on drugs, Sonya, I told you he’s not on drugs.”

“But he is homeless.”

“... yes.”

Sonya’s lips are a straight line, and the look she gives Krista makes her heart flip unhappily. Kauri always makes Sonya look like this. She doesn’t trust him, thinks he’s going to get Krista arrested, thinks he deals or buys or something, but Krista knows the truth and it’s a truth she can’t tell.

If she told Sonya what Kauri is, there would be questions, and then Krista would have to explain what she is, and she… she can’t.

What if Sonya reported him? Krista would shatter if she were the reason someone had to go back. So… she keeps his secret for him, and it’s just one lie, but it means Sonya only ever believes the worst.

“Well.” Sonya takes a deep breath. “What does he want?”

“They stopped running the buses,” Krista says, keeping her voice low. “Because the roads are so flooded.” The TV is still going, running a show Krista doesn’t even remember turning on, and Kauri is still on the inside doormat, dripping and cold and wet and in need of somewhere to stay. “He just wants to crash overnight, Sonya. Please.”

“I’m tired of you letting this guy take advantage of you, Kris,” Sonya says, and then just sighs, raking a hand through her hair and getting it caught on the clips, frowning and jerking her fingers back out, leaving her hair all mussed and beautiful. Krista wants to kiss her, but this isn’t the time.

“It’s just one night-”

“It’s never just anything with Kauri Grant, Kris, and you know it. Just one night with Kauri Grant means he’ll eat half the food in our kitchen and you’ll end up washing his clothes for him-”

“He shouldn’t have to pay for laundry!”

“How come he can’t stay at a motel or something?”

“I don’t know, probably he hasn’t been making much money, if it’s raining people don’t go walking around to give-”

“Oh but somehow he always has money for drinks when he calls to see if you want to go out, though? You think I haven’t noticed that?”

Krista sets her jaw, at that. “Sonya. Please don’t do this. You know he almost never has to pay for drinks-”

“Because he’s fucking all the bartenders, Kris!”

“He just needs somewhere to crash for a single fucking night. Come on, Sonya, don’t be-... don’t be like this. He’s my fucking friend. It’s not like I have a lot of those.”

She never curses, and the unusual word coming from her lips pulls Sonya up short from whatever she intended to say next. There’s a silence, and then her girlfriend sighs and pushes the door open a little more. She holds out her arms and Krista steps into them, taking the tight embrace and soaking it up.

On the bed, their black cat Pepperjack looks up, gives a soft chirping meow, and lays his head back down again.

“I’m sorry,” Sonya says, softly. “I know you care about him. I just wish I understood why.”

Because we’re the same, in all the ways that made us. Because he needs to know there are places where he is allowed to stay. Because of a million reasons I can’t tell, secrets I have to keep.

Because he’s a ghost, and he wears the face of someone who died for him to be born.

Just like I wear a dead girl’s face, just like Leila does, like Chris and Antoni and all of us, we’re all walking around in someone else’s discarded body.

And I can’t tell you.

“He’s my friend,” Krista says again, more softly, and kisses Sonya’s cheek. Her girlfriend turns her head to turn it to a kiss on the lips, and Krista relaxes into the soft reassurance that comes with the love in that kiss. “One of my first friends, really. He’s just going through some stuff right now-”

“Baby, you always say he’s going through some stuff. When does he finish going through it and get out on the other side of all that stuff?”

Krista sighs, and nuzzles her way back into another kiss. “I don’t know. But he’ll leave as soon as the buses are running again, I promise, okay?”

Sonya nods, and they rest their foreheads together for a moment, let the softer silence stand. Then Sonya says, quietly, “Okay, baby. Just. I feel like Pepper over there is all the strays we need in our life, you know?”

“I know,” Krista murmurs. “But he’ll have somewhere to go once it stops raining, I promise.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll start making a list for replacing all the goddamn groceries he’s gonna eat.”

“He doesn’t get much good food out there-”

“Kris. He’s a taker. He uses you. And when he’s here, he uses us. I don’t see why you don’t get that.”

“He’s not-”

“Kris, listen to me. Stop trusting some pretty dude who is just going to get you hurt when he pisses the wrong person off. I know you guys met at the same homeless house or whatever, but he’s going nowhere fast and you can’t let him take you with him.”

“Sonya, stop.”

“Kris-”

“I said stop it.” She pulls back and away, grabbing some of her baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt from the pile of ‘clean’ clothes folded on top of the dresser until she has the energy to put them in the dresser - which is never, Krista delights in being able to be messy in her own home - and carries them out. Sonya stands in the doorway watching her go, and then sighs and goes back to her headset, back to work.

Kauri, still just inside the doorway, is lowering his phone from his ear as Krista comes into view. Nat bought him that phone, so she’d know Kauri was alive the weeks he was gone. Nat bought him the phone, he bought his clothes with panhandling money, his sweatshirt is Dustin’s. The backpack he found abandoned at a bus stop.

Nothing Kauri is wearing, or holding, is really his own.

A little plastic ziplock-style sandwich bag sticks out of his pocket. He had his phone in it to keep it dry, Krista thinks, and wonders how long he’s been wandering around out there in the rain. She hesitantly speaks up. “Here, Kauri, I’ve got towels and some clothes to change into-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kauri says, softly, and glances up at her before he looks down again. Water drips from his hair onto the phone’s screen and he wipes at it with his finger, squinting. “I’ll be gone in a second.”

“What?” Krista goes still, and realizes that she and Sonya were not as quiet as they thought they were. “What do you mean? It's pouring-”

“I called someone,” Kauri says, flat and sharp, without looking at her. “Gonna walk to that bus stop with the little roof and he’ll come get me. Don’t worry about it.”

“Jake? It’s not- Kauri… it’s not safe for Jake to drive all that way across the city, half the roads are flooding-”

“Not Jake.” Kauri isn’t just not looking at her, he can’t. His face is a little red, splotches on his pale cheeks. Is some of the water on his face tears, now, and not from the rain? “I know someone else who lives near here. He’s coming to get me.”

“Kauri…” Krista closes her eyes, guilt twisting around inside of her that he’d heard. He knows Sonya doesn’t like him, but Kauri is so sensitive to being disliked. She should have pulled Sonya into the bedroom and closed the door. “Who is it?”

Kauri blows air through his nose. “It’s Derrick.”

Krista hitches in a breath in surprise. “Your ex? Kauri, didn’t-... didn’t he threaten you when you broke up?”

Kauri shakes his head, gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No. I misunderstood him, that’s all. I thought, um, I thought he was angry, but he was just… sad. The whole stupid fight was my fault anyway, and I’ve seen him since and he agreed to be friends. It’s fine. I asked, and he wants me there. I’ll sleep on his couch.”

No, you won’t. We both know you won’t.

“He wants you there,” Krista parrots, plaintively. “Kauri, you don’t have to leave, or anything, I swear. I’ll make you a bed up-”

“It’s fine,” Kauri repeats, and gives her another breezy, airy smile. He sticks his phone back into the little clear bag, closes it up, and shoves it back in his pocket. He slips his soaking-wet shoes back on and Krista winces as she hears the way his feet push water around inside them. “I’m fine, Krista, it’s really not a big deal. Derrick always says I can call him, when I run into him-”

“You’re still seeing him?” Krista licks at her lips. She holds the towels and clothes useless in her arms like a child hugging a teddy bear, feeling guilty and useless. Kauri came here for somewhere safe to stay, and felt unwanted, and now…

“No, but he… we show up at the same places sometimes.”

“... Kauri, is he following you?”

Kauri gives a brittle, bright laugh. “What? No! It’s fine.”

“It’s fine,” Krista repeats, and then says softly, “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. You… you always say it’s fine. How many times can you say it before you just… admit when it’s not, Kauri?”

Kauri’s smile drops, for a second. His blue eyes meet hers, haunted and sad, making the choice to hurt himself rather than be hurt by anyone else. Kauri Grant is a ghost, she thinks, and very nearly says out loud. You don’t have to haunt us, Kauri. You could have a home.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the hood of his zip-up sweatshirt over his head, where it flops, just as soaked-through as everything else, providing no safety from the rainfall at all. Water drips off of it onto his nose. “I’ll say it as many times as it takes to believe it,” He says, heavily.

“For who to believe it? Us, or you?”

“I’ll catch you later, Krista. No big deal. Thanks for letting me hang out for a minute.”

Krista watches, helpless, as Kauri turns and walks back out into the rain, shoulders hunched. The rain is so thick that he disappears from view before he’s even fully across the parking lot. From a man to a shade of the fog to nothing at all.

Sonya wanders out of the bedroom to find Krista still staring outside, through the open door. “Baby? Where’s your friend?”

“Where’s my friend? He heard us talking.” Krista’s voice is thready trembling. “He found someone else to stay with.”

The ex-boyfriend, who told Kauri he was a ditz and kind of dumb, who told him he was lucky someone put up with how difficult he is, who broke up with him while threatening and scaring him, who… who still let him leave, at least.

So it’s better than where he came from, maybe.

But not by much.

“Oh. So he did have somewhere else to go. Probably he just called his dealer, Krista. Nobody looks that strung out without being on something.”

Krista’s fingers tightened on the cloth she held in her hands until the tension hurt, ached up her arms and to her shoulders. “Sonya, he’s just-... he’s messed up, but he’s not-... he’s not on drugs. He’s just had a hard-... a hard life.”

“Yeah, I mean, a lot of us have. But you always let him take advantage of you, Kris. That’s all. That’s all I worry about. I mean, I’m sure he’s a fine guy, but I’m not on Team Kauri, you know? I’m Team Krista. I worry way more about how you get all weird for a couple days every time he’s here.”

“Sonya-”

“He’ll be fine.”

Krista shakes her head, but repeats, “He’ll be fine,” to settle her own nerves. She realizes belatedly that Kauri’s socks are still balled up on the concrete step outside her door, and she moves forward, closes the door, and does up the locks, leaving them there for now.

Maybe he’ll come back for them.

He probably won’t.

Pepperjack meows softly at her, and she turns to see the black cat winding his way around a leg of the coffee table. Something in his eyes looks… reproachful. Pepper likes curling up with Kauri when he stays over, warm against his back or on his chest, just under his chin.

Krista walks past Sonya to hang the towels back up, puts her clothes back in the clean clothes pile, and curls up on the couch with Pepperjack in her lap and Sonya at her side. Warm, dry, and guilty.

She sent the ghost away - or Sonya did - or she did, by not defending him enough… and still, Krista feels haunted. She pulls her own phone out from the pocket in her pants and texts Jake. He went back to Derrick.

She doesn’t have to say who he is. She sees when Jake reads the message, but he doesn’t send anything back right away. Maybe he’ll call Kauri. Maybe he’ll convince Kauri to go somewhere other than his shit ex-boyfriend’s place. Maybe maybe maybe, but it all relies on Kauri not running away.

It all relies on Kauri. Kauri’s a survivor, she tells herself. They all are. She texts Jake again. I’m sure it’s okay. I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m sure.

Yeah, is all Jake sends back. She can feel the anger through the inconsequential bloodless single-word response. Anger, fear, and worry.

She closes her eyes.

He’ll be fine. He’s fine.

How many times do they tell each other Kauri is fine, when everyone knows it’s not true?

---

@maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @whumpiary @whump-tr0pes @raigash @cubeswhump

#whumptober2020 #no. 27 #extreme weather #erase to control #environmental whump #rain whump #trauma recovery #trauma response #recovering whumpee #drug references #alcohol references #Kauri's Poor Life Choices #slut-shaming tw #survivor returning to abuser

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klixxy · 3 years

Text

Weekly Fic Recs

(ft. my bookmark comments)

HAIKYUU!!:

the pretty (pining) setters squad - bloodyhalefire

(haikyuu!!; multiple relationships; chatfic; setter-centric; 36k words; ongoing)

oikawa: I HAVE NO FEAR

suga: straight iwaizumi

oikawa: I HAVE ONE FEAR

said you’re coming back home, boy, don't feel so alone - jublis

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; kageyama-centric; 9k words) MANGA SPOILERS

The ball rolls gently on the ground, all the way to Tobio’s feet. He bends down to pick it up, and something in his blood sizzles like lightning. He looks at the leathery surface, then at his sister’s wild smile and neat hair; looks back at the court and the net, where the boys are running a spiking practice. Everyone else seems focused on the attackers, but Tobio’s eyes are zeroed on the one tossing. Set, connect, spike. Bang-bang-bang.

No one wins without the setter.

Tobio tosses the ball to Miwa and says, “Again.”

Or, Kageyama Tobio grows up, older, and not that much wiser at all. Featuring brothers and sisters, anger, connection, and that moment when someone finally catches up with you.

My Best Friend is a 9 Year-Old - CO32minus

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; gen; kagehina-centric; 48k words) MANGA SPOILERS

Kageyama didn't expect to become friends with Hinata nearly as fast as he did. He expected becoming best friends with Hinata's sister even less. But over the course of his high school career, the two of them grow closer than any friend Kageyama has had in a long time. A long time.

[my bookmarks: beautiful. a masterpiece. i have been rendered... speechless. it's poignant and painful and heartbreaking.

explores the relationships between tobio and a variety of people in a unique way. an emotional, tearful rollercoaster all the way through.]

you who appeared before my eyes like a miracle - vivahate

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; kageyama-centric; hurt/comfort; 2k words) MANGA SPOILERS

Everything I told you last night,” Kageyama says at last and he sounds so awful, so defensive: he keeps trying to pull away, and Hinata can tell he’s come to all the wrong conclusions. “I told you because I wanted to. There’s nothing more to it. I don’t need your -”

“It’s not pity!” Hinata hisses, tightening his hold on Kageyama’s hands. “Or whatever else you’re thinking.” Hinata releases another quivering breath against Tobio’s neck, the setter going completely still in his arms. It’s important that Tobio understands. “It breaks my heart knowing that the boy I love was hurting and I didn’t even –” he breaks off with a sound of frustration, “I could’ve done something to make it at least a little better for you.”

(or; Kageyama tells Hinata about Kazuyo san after the Black Jackals/Adlers game, and Hinata processes.)

cats and other challenges - vivahate (they have such good fics!)

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; hurt/comfort; 6k words) MANGA SPOILERS

“Was that Hime?” Miwa asks over the phone, having apparently heard that pathetic yowl.

“No.” Tobio grunts, “It’s a different cat I picked up from the garbage on my way home.” On the other end of the line Miwa laughs gleefully, probably thinking he’s joking.

He’s not.

(Or; Sometime in the year following the Olympics, Tobio finds himself adopting a cat. And then three more. Hinata doesn't mind.)

etymology - tothemoon

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; coming of age; 3k words) MANGA SPOILERS

Kageyama Tobio has a language all his own.

[my bookmarks: holy shit this is pure poetry. beauty. breathtaking. <3]

and if you asked me if i love him (i'd lie) - fakecharliebrown

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; kagehina-centric; humor; falling in love; au; 13k words)

“Okay, what the fuck,” Tobio said, upon seeing the source of the commotion in his kitchen. There, standing in front of his open window—when had he opened that?—was a guy probably several years younger than Tobio, a high schooler most likely, with bright, orange hair. He was soaked to the bone, dripping rainwater all over Tobio’s kitchen floor like he was trying to fill a new lake.

The boy looked up, wide-eyed, and blurted, “This isn’t my apartment.”

or; Hinata accidentally breaks into Kageyama’s apartment, starts a fire, and is deeply offended that Kageyama eats lettuce. It all seems to unravel from there.

burn - orphan_account

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; kagehina-centric; au; 3k words)

Kageyama Tobio had always had the odd ability to see the numbers signalling how dangerous a person was. He'd gone through his childhood surrounded by Twos and Threes, maybe even Fours. And then he meets his Ten.

~~~~~~~~~~

The flame seemed to burn ever so bright, as Kageyama felt the air around the other basically crackle. He felt as if he was Icarus and Hinata was the Sun. Two wings to hold him up, a fiery heat to burn him down.

Don't get too close, or you'll melt.

6/10 - CheekyBrunette

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; kageyama-centric; social anxiety; 19k words)

Hinata babbled on. “Natsu’s just so annoying sometimes. Everyone comes over and is like, ‘But oh, she’s so cute!’ and, well... yeah, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like pushing all my buttons, you know? I mean, this is the third time she stole my blue furoshiki, so I had to wrap my bento with her stupid cat one!”

Kageyama’s hands knotted up in the bottom hem of his shorts. “Little sisters are the worst,” he tried.

Hinata’s nose scrunched up, and Kageyama’s stomach threatened to tie itself in knots. That had been the wrong thing to say. “Well, she’s not the worst,” Hinata corrected. Kageyama felt stupid for speaking up.

Fixation - @radio-silents

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; kagehina-centric; 7k words)

Hinata can’t stand Kageyama.

He can’t stand Kageyama’s stupid grumpy face, he can’t stand his stupid hair, and most of all he can’t stand how stupidly good Kageyama is at volleyball.

Alternatively, where Hinata spends a lot of time being frustrated and confused about his conflicting emotions toward Kageyama.

Summer Days, Flying By - @anawriteshorror

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; kageyama-centric; abuse au; angst; 11k words)

“Ne, Tobio.” Shouyou asked him one afternoon, smile relaxed on his face as he spread his fingers, splaying shadows on the walls. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like to fly?”

He shook his head. Flying meant going outside, and even imagining it made him tense up. He was already breaking enough rules as it was; no need to stir up his mind more than he already had.

Shouyou looked a little sad at that. “Well, I have.” His eyes went to the sky, like he could see himself soaring at that very moment. “You should imagine it, just once.”

The facts that make up his world are this: his name is Kageyama Tobio, he's ten years old, and he's never been outside his house.

Until he met Shouyou.

well, maybe i'm a crook - aruariandance

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; kageyama-centric; angst; 6k words)

The thing is-- Hinata is in love with Kageyama and everyone knows it, including Kageyama.

[my bookmarks: i'm cryignd i can't-]

discovering the smile of one kageyama tobio - Emlee_J (also a great fic writer - check out her other fics they’re all equally as good)

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; falling in love; 3rd year au; 8k words)

Kageyama blinks once before a grin of his own spreads over his face. Shouyou’s breath halts in his lungs at the sight, and he wills for time to stop, just so he can drink it in. He sees it sometimes, when they’re playing - Kageyama’s fierce smile when they pull a combo off just right, when they show their opponents how possible the impossible can really be. But then there’s another serve, another rally, and the moment is gone.

'Shame', Shouyou thinks to himself, as he lets his eyes roam over Kageyama’s stupidly happy face, taking in the creases that are from joy rather than frowning, for a change. 'It’s a really nice smile.'

In which it's their third, and final, year in high school and Hinata has only one goal: to make Kageyama smile outside of volleyball.

Wedding Tosses - its_tabby_cat

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; wedding; fluff/humor; 4k words) MILD MANGA SPOILERS

Based on the post I can't find anymore about Hinata and Kageyama spiking their wedding bouquet during the bouquet toss in their wedding.

Hinata and Kageyama's wedding is unique in their friends and guests' memories for one very specific reason. Natsu and Miwa wish they could say they saw this coming when they organised a bouquet toss as part of their brothers' wedding, but they didn't. They should have, though.

Hinata and Kageyama have no regrets. Neither do any of their guests (Except maybe Tsukishima).

gonna stand by you - meregalaxiesandgods

(haikyuu!!; gen; 3rd year au; kageyama-centric; 5k words)

Five times Kageyama defended his teammates, and one time they defended him.

baby, i can give you wings - Metis_Ink

(haikyuu!!; kagehina/daisuga; superpower au; humor/romance; 8k words)

In which there are superpowers, cats, rainstorms, realizations, split-second jealousy, embarrassing volleyparents, killer whales, electric Kuroos, unstable emotions, bad romance movie mentions, some angst, some fluff, but mostly a lot of awkward high schoolers.

The minute Kageyama walks into the gym and sees Hinata hovering eight feet over the nets he knows he’s screwed.

if it wasn't for you - diphylleias

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; gen; getting together; 13k words) MANGA SPOILERS

A long moment passes between them, and Hinata watches, starstruck, as Heitor’s eyes linger on Nice’s silhouette from across the venue. His voice is deep, rich, all encompassing. “Some people change your life just by being in it, and you don’t want to let that go.”

Huh, Hinata thinks grandly.

[my bookmarks: This is majestic. Im now gonna proceed to scream internally about my kagehina feels for the next few hours.]

kintsugi - horchata

(haikyuu!!; gen; magical realism; kageyama-centric; 4k words)

Tobio notices when people get hurt. Something inside him hums to fix it.

The first time’s for Iwaizumi-san.

i bear little resemblance to the king i could become - silpium

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; gen; kageyama-centric; found family; 1k words)

Something else that’s infuriating about Hinata: he doesn’t question much. He never questions how Kageyama never smiles. He never questions why Kageyama doesn’t seem to have any friends. He never questions why Kageyama doesn’t talk much about himself, or talk much at all. He’ll make fun of these things sometimes, sure, but there’s never a probing question lingering beneath it. He seems to know there are just some things about Kageyama that are the way they are and that won’t change.

Or: sometimes people find their homes later in life.

Saffron and Cayenne Pepper - dontsaycrazy

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; gen; falling in love; cooking au; 30k words)

Cooking is hard. Even if you have your very attractive, very grumpy neighbor there to help you.

In which Hinata's lack of cooking skills are a danger to him and others. Luckily (or not), Kageyama is willing to teach him, if only for the sake of avoiding any burned down apartments.

halcyon - @queenanimetrash

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; gen; depression; falling in love; hurt/comfort; 11k words)

"...And Kageyama cried. There was no rhyme or reason to it. There was no reason for all of the things he was feeling. Depression was weird like that, the lady in the pantsuit told him. There was no reason for it. It just comes and stays sticky on your skin, lumpy in your throat, heavy in your heart, suffocating and cold all at once."

again - bigspoonnoya

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; gen; falling in love; reincarnation au; fantastical; 15k words)

Both your deaths in this universe have failed. “Failed…” Kageyama echoes. The word seems to hurt him. “How can you fail at dying?” Hinata asks, incredulous. Luckily you have an infinite selection of universes, with an extensive number of lifetimes, still remaining. Until you can save one another, you will never grow old.

[my bookmarks: magical. absolutely breathtaking. amazingly poetic. <33333]

Blowing Up - sarahenany

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; gen; bombing au; angst; hurt/comfort; 10k words)

Minor spoilers for early S4 of the anime. Hinata and Kageyama go to different training camps, but news reaches Hinata's camp that there's been a bombing at the Ajinomoto Center, where Kageyama's camp is being held. Kageyama has minor injuries. Hinata is worried and protective. Tsukishima, Ukai, Takeda, Kenma and Kuroo are awesome.

like a sudden flight of birds - starstrikes

(haikyuu!!; atsukage; soulmate au; 17k words) MANGA SPOILERS

There are these chances—the ones that come flying overhead, streaking through the sky, waiting for a jump and a catch.

It takes Tobio a couple wrong chances before the right one comes swooping by like a shooting star. This time, Tobio jumps for the catch and doesn't let go.

stray bird - diarahans

(haikyuu!!; tsukkikage; falling in love; fluff; 7k words)

Tsukishima brings home a rain-drenched Kageyama.

All That's Left - tsunderei

(haikyuu!!; kagehina; falling in love; pacific rim au; 38k words)

Almost immediately after his last mission, where his mistakes nearly claimed the life of his partner, Kageyama Tobio resigns as a Jaeger pilot. Since then he has kept to himself, his life stuck in a rut and his reputation left in tatters. When the Kaiju suddenly threaten to rise again, he doesn’t want anything to do with them.

But along with the new threat comes new recruits, and a certain redheaded pilot isn’t willing to give up on Kageyama so easily. Hinata Shouyou is all about fighting spirit and second chances, despite his lack of experience. Slowly but insistently, he pulls Kageyama along – back to life, back into the Jaeger, back into the drift.

everything/anything by @superish

[all of my bookmarks for superish’s stuff: ]

like literally. this was my bookmark for one of their fics:

OH. MY. GOD. OHMYGOD. THIS IS PHENOMAL. BEAUTIFUL. BREATHTAKING. THE DESCRIPTIONS OF TOBIO WERE JUST- A+++++++++++++. INFINITE +S. INCREDIBLE. RIDICULOUSLY GOOD. HEART-STOPPING. THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH ADJECTIVES TO PRAISE THIS FIC.

OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I'M SCREAMING. I'M GONNA SCREAM. I'M DYING. HOW- WHY- THE EQUIVALENT OF PERFECTION EXISTS IN THIS WORLD, AND IT IS THIS FIC. JESUS CHRIST I'M IN LOVE. THIS IS MY NEW FUCKING RELIGION AND NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE.

BNHA:

Knead a Hand? - staqua

(boku no hero academia; bakutodo; bakutodo-centric; 5k words)

Ah. For all of the appliances Shouto had been, a blowtorch was new. Still, just to prompt and bother: "So...?"

"So..."

It was a plea for help but Shouto wanted to hear the words. Another eyebrow twitch. The other one this time, because Bakugou clearly liked to workout both muscles for ultimate impact.

"Argh! Just light your finger on fire and caramelize these shitheads!"

OR: Shouto discovers his quirk is useful for more than hero work through his time spent cooking with a grudging Bakugou.

journey to the past - @aloneintherain

(boku no hero academia; gen; midoriya-centric; time-travel au; 44k words)

Izuku is five years old the first time he's saved by heroes. He's an instant fan of the woman in pink with her cheerful smile and the man with his ice powers and fine-boned features, even if they both refuse to tell him their names.

For most of his life, Izuku has been the centre of villain attacks, but he has never been injured. Every time, he's saved by bright, unknown heroes—heroes who smile at Izuku, and ruffle his hair or ply him with hugs, and seem mesmerised by how small he is.

Heroes that the rest of the world doesn't believe exists.

(Time-travelling Class 1-A AU)

Candy Canes And Christmas Crackers - bigdorkenergy

(boku no hero academia; bakutodo; fake dating au; slow burn; 104k words)

“So….your huge family somehow all think that you have a long term boyfriend and are insisting that you bring him to your week long Christmas family reunion?” Despite his efforts the end of his question raised in pitch as Kirishma swallowed down a giggle.

“How does that even happen?” Kaminari added popping some of the hashbrowns Bakugou made into his mouth.

OR your classic holiday romcom where Bakugou needs a fake boyfriend to bring home for Christmas and Todoroki is willing to take that bullet.

some days - @chibistarlyte

(boku no hero academia; pre-bakutodo; gen; angst; 6k words)

Most days, Shouto is fine.

But some days...

Some days, Shouto falls apart.

hear me howling - @lunal0u

(i absolutely love, love, love this author check her out PLEASE you don’t even have to ship tododeku just PLEASE)

(boku no hero academia; tododeku; gen; angst; suicide; emotional rollercoaster; 14k words)

Instead of squinting away like Izuku would, Shouto’s eyes seem to grow warmer as they stare into the sun, seem to grow softer.

In the glow of the early morning, the sky painted in hues of red and pink, it almost looks as if the sun itself is reflecting from Shouto’s eyes, his dark pupils dyed gold by the light.

(or, four times izuku watches the sunrise with shouto and the one time he doesn't)

[my bookmarks: this is everything i aspire to be, shoved into one, brilliant fic.]

the stars are floating and we are flying - @lunal0u

(boku no hero academia; tododeku; gen; angst; mental illness; 39k words)

Aizawa starts walking towards the exit, obviously expecting Shouto to follow him, but Shouto's feet are frozen in place. His eyes flicker from the distorted reflection of himself in the ice to where All Might is giving him a long look, eyes kinder than anything Todoroki has ever been deserving of, and he feels sick.

“Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya says gently, squeezing his arm in what Shouto presumes is meant to be a reassuring gesture. “It’s going to be okay.”

He doesn’t think Midoriya is in any place to tell him what okay is, all things considered, but he chooses to keep quiet on the matter.

[my bookmarks: this made me burst into tears. my heart just exploded. I'm crying like a baby. just fricking- it's just fricking beautiful. astounding. incredible. wonderful. poignant. heartbreaking. so, so very sad. i can't even put it into words frick.]

rock'n'roll, buckaroo! - Origamidragons

(boku no hero academia; gen; humor; youtube au; 6k words)

Kaminari walks up to Todoroki in the hallway after class and says, “Dude, I need your help.”

Todoroki checks over his shoulder, twice, to verify that Kaminari is indeed talking to him. “Why?”

“Yesterday you asked Shinsou-kun if he was Aizawa-sensei’s son,” Kaminari says, as though that explains anything at all.

“...yes?”

“Make a hero conspiracy YouTube channel with me.”

FMAB:

snipers solve 99% of all problems - silentwalrus

(fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood x harry potter; gen; humor; 226k words; ongoing)

Ed had thought, after the whole Promised Day, homunculus, entire country harvested for alchemical batteries thing, the batshit quotient of his life would have settled down some. He really ought to have topped out the meter with that one. But no. The bullshit is just getting started.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Ed demands. “The wizards?”

Podfic & Chinese translation available! See notes

[my bookmarks: holy shit this is amazing... {SPOILERS}]

everything/anything by tierfal

you don’t even have to have read fmab for some of their fics- you can hate royed for all i care- just PLEASE read their fics. all of their fics are just so wonderful and are such an emotional rollercoaster that has you absolutely hooked from start to end. the author has an amazing quality that their writing just makes you feel so much.

please check them out.

ATLA:

respite - @blue---pluto

(avatar: the last airbender; gen; gaang finds out abt zuko’s scar fic; 3k words)

“It’s healing really well.” Katara tells him with a smile, before her lips quirk down into a frown. “Though it’ll still scar pretty bad.”

Zuko shrugs. “It’s ok. I doubt people will really focus on it anyway… the one on my face is a bit more prominent.”

Katara makes a face, like she’s not quite sure if she should laugh or frown, when Toph speaks up.

“You have a scar on your face?” Toph asks, sitting up so she’s sitting by his legs rather than lying on them.

Zuko blinks. He never quite forgets that Toph is blind, but the fact that she can’t see his scar never really occurred to him.

“Oh, yeah.” Zuko looks down at his lap. “My father burned like, half my face off before I was banished.” He says it a little too casually, probably not bitterly enough.

The Competition - @littlelovelyspiderling

(avatar: the last airbender; gen; tickle fic; zuko-centric; 8k words)

The avatar gang competes to see who can get Zuko to laugh first. Adorableness ensues.

where the stars do not take sides - WitchofEndor

(avatar: the last airbender; gen; zukka; azula and zuko-centric; 60k words)

When Azula is nine, she becomes an only child. She hears the Fire Lord call for Zuko's life, and in the morning, her mother and brother are gone. Azula may be young, but she isn't naive. She knows what happened to them.

Which makes it all the more surprising when Azula tracks the Avatar down and fights his group of peasant friends, only to find herself staring into an eerily familiar face.

asmr: Actively Seeking Machiavellism's Redemption - cereal_whore

(avatar: the last airbender; gen; azula redemption; zuko-centric; time travel au; humor; 13k words; ongoing)

When Zuko's midlife crisis is just his life replayed for a second time, it tests not just his patience, but also whether it's truly Azula that's the murderous sibling out of the two. Because Zuko might be a mentally matured sixteen-year-old with his own handful of daddy issues, but he is this close to throwing hands at his eleven-year-old baby sister out in their courtyard.

Or: upon being hit by Azula's lightning in the last battle, Zuko finds himself back in time to when his father just branded half of his face. He also finds himself facing his younger sister, eleven and not a murderer, and through his own mixture of overwhelming pity and resentment for her, realizes he could possibly save not just all the people she killed- but herself as well.

In other words: Zuko wants to make things right for Azula (who was never given a chance by anyone), so he essentially drags her along with him on his life-changing field trip as a tired nanny.

heirloom - jublis

(avatar: the last airbender; gen; azula redemption; angst; series; 56k words; ongoing)

The weight of the world rests on the shoulders of children. In spite of it all, they still find enough place to grow.

[my bookmarks: fuck i’m gonna cry again]

Leaves and Shells - ChimaeraKitten

(avatar: the last airbender; gen; angst; zuko-centric; 2k)

Zuko thought he knew how to deal with grief. But loss is different every time, and losing the one person who anchored him through all the other turmoil is its own special kind of pain. Luckily Zuko is not quite as alone as he once was.

Names - TGP

(avatar: the last airbender; jetko; angst; amnesia au; 89k words)

His name is Li. At least, that’s what the villagers call him and when they die in a Fire Nation attack, he carries that name with him to the Freedom Fighters and a war that will test every fiber of his being.

Where Zuko ends and Li begins is a muddled thing indeed.

[my bookmarks: i don’t ship jetko but... but this... i did NOT see this fic coming and it hit me with the feels train... hard.]

CROSSOVERS:

In His Element(s) - WriterGreenReads

(boku no hero academia x avatar: the last airbender; gen; aang-centric; 111k words; ongoing)

“So… one more time.” Shouta pinched the bridge of his nose, regretting both waking up this morning and possibly existence in general. “You’re the spiritual avatar of an entirely different world, and in the process of keeping the peace with said spirits, originating from your… dimension, you’ve come to our world to stop the actively malicious versions of your spirits, because our world told your world that something was wrong.” The child shrugged and grinned, looking much too cheery for someone currently in handcuffs. “Pretty much!” he chirped. “Your world spirit is really polite, too. Ours was super grumpy about all the spirits escaping, but then yours said it was ok, so long as I teach her more about them on the way back!”"

Aang chases some renegade spirits across worldly borders and possibly makes some new friends along the way.

but it's a little too late - @irleggsywrites

(haikyuu!! x bleach; kageyama x ichigo; gen; humor; 11k words; ongoing)

Kageyama's elusive "girlfriend" turns out to be a bizarre ginger-haired boy who isn't Hinata. Subsequently, he may or may not lose it at some point.

Karasuno's getting kind of suspicious of Kageyama's relationship. It seems like he always runs into trouble around this guy, and some things aren't adding up. When push comes to shove, they aren't afraid to show their protective streak, especially when it comes to their youngest.

Ichigo likes his new volleyball-playing boyfriend a lot. He just wishes ghosts would stop crashing their dates, because it's a real mood-killer.

(This is 110% crack. HQ!! focused.)

Ignis Aurum Probat - writing_addict

(fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood x how to train your dragon; gen; angst; humor; 37k words; ongoing)

Edward Elric is born early into the dead of winter, on an island twelve days North of Hopeless and a few degrees south of Freezing-To-Death. He comes into the world sickly and small--and endlessly defiant, burning with the kind of rage that can shake the foundations of the universe. The gods themselves hear that scream, that roar of fury and thunder promising to remake the world as they know it, and wonder.

Fifteen years later, Ed brings down the Night Fury that's been plaguing his people for generations, stands over it with the perfect opportunity to make the kill...and spares it. And just like that, the Norns begin weaving the fate of a hero.

61 notes · View notes

dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

Tokyo Love Story (Part 1) Ruri Kazama

Oh boy... I got a lot riding on this one. *sweats*

@rurifangirl by request.

Even after climbing up out of the elevator shaft, your long night wasn’t over. The police raid, the one that prompted Hydra to move all their files in the first place, was about to begin and every able-bodied operative was running around trying to clean up the signs of the battle in the mural hall and the signs of the deadpools’ reign of destruction, including the bodies left behind.

Exhausted, hiding in an equipment room, you slept, propped up between Caesar and Chu Zihang. You couldn’t lay down. The act of lying down was too painful. Out of the three, you had suffered the greatest injury. You had fought the deadpool in the basement, only to climb from the bottom of the elevator shaft to find another battle. You’d reached the limit of your endurance, so Caesar and Chu Zihang offered their shoulders and kept watch. Your mind relaxes despite still being in the midst of the enemy and you quietly slip into oblivion, feeling safer than you had in a very long time.

But you were forced to lie down eventually. Caesar found an unwatched police car and carefully lifted you into the trunk, then they climbed in themselves and shut it. The police car left the Genji Heavy Industries building. The Hydra may be powerful, but at this time when their headquarters had come under such a devastating attack, they were not inclined to search police cars. That was how you finally escaped.

Every bump in the road sent lightning through your nerves. If it weren’t for your lost voice, you doubt you could have kept quiet. But just in case, you take your hair and bite it between your teeth.

“Your back is already partially healed.” Chu Zihang’s voice is audible, but you can’t see him because your eyes are firmly shut.

“I noticed that, but I wasn’t going to say anything about you in front of that humanoid dragon.” Caesar was saying. “You slept for three days and healed from a grievous gunshot wound that nearly took your life. He healed from a stab through the belly in an hour and now… even with your wounds cauterized, they’re closed up a little more every time I look at them.”

“MC, the Lenin, the strange port, the so-called Hydras and the Devil Clan… they’re all pieces painting a single picture.” Zihang stated. “The way he described the so-called Ghosts, it sounded a lot like you. You’re the same Hybrid Species, but you’re more likely to become deadpool. It was good that we weren’t captured by the Hydras. They would definitely have killed you. As a Ghost.”

Caesar hissed in fury. “The whole Hydra organization will burn before I let them touch you!”

To think that at one time you actually felt like you could fit in more with Hydra than Cassell. You had followed after Chisei in battle, admiring his strength against deadpool. But if Chisei had known anything about you, he would have slain you in that elevator. Realizing how much danger you were in made you sigh.

Your heart sinks. You had been hoping to talk to Chisei about what he might know about you and find out what more similarities you might have with him. But now, that date over sake would be an impossibility. Caesar was right. The world really is bullshit.

Your eyes flutter open again. “Caesar. I almost forgot to tell you something…”

“Save it. It’s too hard for you to speak right now, and I can barely hear you over the sound of the car. Take this time to recover.”

Sneaking out of the police lot wasn’t difficult. It was raining hard and that concealed your silhouettes. The heavy droplets soaked your clothes and the blood that was caked on them. Chu Zihang is carrying you now, sprinting down the flooded streets of Tokyo. You leave behind a trail of deadpool blood that mixes with the rainwater in black inky streaks and runs into the gutters and down into the storm drains.

The sun was coming up. If you were caught out here, Kaguya might find out where you were hiding, Hydra would rush in to trap you, and you would die.

Caesar slammed open the door to the Takamagahara. It swung on its hinge and banged into the wall. The morning light swept through the city at that moment to illuminate their entrance. Caesar and Chu Zihang held the door, panting, wet shirts clinging to their bodies, drops of water falling from the tips of their hair.

"Yo, everyone is still awake? Good business in the store last night?" Caesar waved his hand in greeting. He looked from the light into the dark interior of the lobby and couldn't see very well, only that the dance floor was full of people. But you had buried your face in Chu Zihang’s chest to hide from cameras and had no trouble with light-blindness.

In a glance, you take in the scene. So much is going on. The women you had helped Caesar take pictures of in the VIP private suite of the Takamagahara are standing in a semicircle. Their arms are over their ample chests or their hands are on their hips. They were all glaring, and the target of their ire was Whale.

Whale, this man that seemed like such a powerful tycoon when you met him, that was bold enough to keep harboring you despite being illegal immigrants, had been reduced to a groveling servant before them, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by scattered paper money. The bills were quite large, but no one moved to touch them.

Fujiwara, the former Sumo star and the man you described as the biggest Seal on the Shore of Baikal, was standing between them and Whale, but his appearance was not that of someone who was going to try to defend Whale. It was the appearance of the shield bearer who happily takes the sword strike for his King and gives him the chance to escape!

Even though the Takamagahara should be closing, all the performers are crowded into the space, motionless in a bow, eyes downcast. You recognize your official suitors in the MC Romance competition among them.

Armani frowns deeply at you. Now that he was in the light of day, you can see that he’s the classic cold and stern type of handsome male character, someone with high standards of food, drink and clothing. Even now he was wearing a slick suit that was hardly wrinkled from the night’s activity. But despite this current figure, he had been wearing something far more revealing to meet you and you saw his belly button ring.

Chance snorts and tries not to laugh, covering his mouth with one hand before schooling his face into a sorrowful look. He was dressed the same with his chain and his sleeveless open puffy coat. You notice his henna tattoos go all the way up his arm in a twisting serpentine pattern.

Diamond, the sexy cowboy, just looks at you in astonishment. He was the one who had been the most forward and confident in his win. Now he realized that after you had refused to give him a star-heart ticket, you went out with other boys! This had never happened to him in his entire life!

But it was Calypso, the one who had handed you the closed rose bud, who spoke, pointing at Chu Zihang and Caesar. “What are you doing with her? You’re not competing!”

Everyone turns to look at you. Caesar’s eyes finally adjusted to the low light of the lobby and you see his face go taut and his eyes widened. “Shit!” He squeaked!

The humpback whale looked horrified and said, "You can't come back and speak that way to the guests!”

Chu Zihang touched Caesar's back with his elbow as he scooted over to hide behind him.

Caesar immediately understood and walked up to the women with an elegant salute, "How did you sleep last night? You look much better!"

"The guests drank too much and fell asleep. We went out for a bite to eat." Chu Zihang stammered. His Japanese was horrible. After all, he could make money with just his face and his sullen attitude so there was little need to work on pronunciation when all he had to do was mumble.

Whale is staring with eyes as big as dinner plates at Chu Zihang who was still carrying the travel bag with his sword inside. The bag was soaking wet and the blood mixed with water pooled on the floor where you stood. It looked like he’d hidden a severed head in there! Chu Zihang’s eyes shifted to his bag and then looked back up. “The Main Character was injured in the Earthquake so we had to take her and others to the hospital.”

It was a stupid story. It would have been better to keep his silence! Who knew Chu Zihang could stammer out a dumb line like that? It was about Lu Mingfei level of dumb. But Chu Zihang owned it, glaring hard with the cold stare of a killer. If he couldn’t make them believe his lie, he could at least stop them from asking any questions.

Whale’s lips trembled. "I don't believe it! Can’t you make up a more logical lie about finding a dead cat or dog hit by a car in the street. So you brought it back to bury it because you like small animals?”

"Ah! Right, Ukyou! Are you okay?" A large woman stepped around the sumo wrestler. If Fujiwara was the King of the Seals, this had to be the Queen. Her dress strained at the seams to contain her and she was like a giant egg testing the weight limits of her tiny heels. Her lips were smeared with gaudy red lipstick and she fluttered her gold powdered eyes at Chu Zihang.

But Chu Zihang’s reaction was telling. The way he tensed up, held you tighter and his eyes got wide, shocked you.

"Who is the roadside nobody you rescued? Maybe he's a yakuza? Maybe it's some other bad guy or something that could….”

You turn and look at the woman, still carried in Chu Zihang’s arms. The woman’s face went pale and then paler, about as pale as the faces of the deadpool. Her mouth dropped open like a deadpool too only she didn’t have the rows of teeth to display. Her whole body started to shake and her hands went over her mouth.

Then her hands balled into fists, her eyes narrowed and her head dropped as if she were going to charge you. She let out a scream that sent chills up your spine. It wasn’t any words, just a primordial screech. Her face flushed red to her hairline. When she finally found the words, she bellowed, “Who the fuck is that?!”

She lumbered forward, eyes blazing with rage. “Get your hands off my Ukyou! You Bitch! You Bitch!” She swung her purse and missed you by inches, but her aim was good. She missed you because Chu Zihang had turned his body to shield you and the purse cracked hard against his jaw. Unbeknownst to both of you, she had filled her purse with bottles of champagne. Her plan was to take these bottles as a ‘fine’ for the insult of what happened to her last night. But at the sight of you, they became a weapon.

The sound of those bottles smashing against Chu Zihang’s head was audible to all and if there was any doubt as to the sheer force of her anger, her Prada bag turned dark and started to drip and the hall filled with the smell of champagne.

You look at him in disbelief.

Chu Zihang didn’t move, but his eyes were wild. A small red bead of blood formed at the corner of his mouth and that turned into a thin red line down his chin. The pressure of his fingertips against your skin told you that this blow really hurt.

She hurt him. That thought rings like a bell that sounds deep in your stomach and turns it.

The woman looks shocked for a moment. She didn't mean to strike him. He was hit because he protected you. "Why are you protecting her? I'm your client! Asshole! Do you know who I am? How dare you! How dare you take what I’ve paid good money for and give it to this hussy! You’re nothing but trash! No different from a dog! We spend good money so you can please us! And when I buy something it’s mine! Do you understand? Do you speak English? MINE!" Her face is inches from his. She reaches out with one hand to try to yank you out of his grip.

The woman suddenly stopped as though frozen in time. Her voice was cut off and she started to tremble. People couldn't see around her, they only saw your stare. It was like the empty and frozen stare of a shark, but you were smiling, a sort of strange disbelieving smile. You tilt your head in a curious gesture.

They couldn’t see that bronze dagger you’d slipped under the folds of her neck. If this woman so much as swallowed, the ripple of her throat would be enough to cut her.

But the combination of empty eyes and surprised grin was far more frightening. It was the look of someone who snapped. The bronze claw in your hand was enough to pierce the flesh of Rank-A deadpool. With only a little pressure you could sever her head!

You were hungry, exhausted and in pain. But even if you had been perfectly fine, you weren't going to sit by and let this woman abuse him. He had fought all night with you, nearly died for you and then carried you here. This precious person who had rushed into the fire, who had patted your shoulder to comfort you. She treated him like an object, like a slave right in front of you.

Despite the ice of grief breaking around your frigid heart, giving you a glimpse of the possibility of happiness, you were still trained to kill and you’d killed for less… much less… than what she’d just done.

Caesar slowly turned his back, "I hate to see two women fight ...... so I can only turn around."

“My career is finished…” Whale softly moaned.

"Excuse me, is this Takamagahara? Ruri Kazama has taken the liberty of coming to visit for the Romance Contest." Someone knocked gently on the door.

You, along with everyone else in the room, looked over at the door in surprise.

The door was open. A handsome man with a boyish face stood in the mild sunlight, wearing a white shirt and black suit, with fresh straight black hair in a ponytail, holding a bunch of budding tulips.

The man was a little embarrassed by everyone's stares. He bowed deeply and offered his business card with both hands. “Please forgive my tardiness.”

"Master Kazama ...... Ruri?" Someone said in a reverent voice.

Master? You turn and look at where the reverent voice was coming from, but the entire hall was silent and no one spoke again. Chance was standing in mute astonishment. Armani’s sharp black eyes were wide.

Your knife lowers from the fat woman’s neck and you squint at this newcomer, wondering why this man was held in such high regard. He was nothing like the muscle bound flirts who had been jostling for your favor before. His manner was more like a shy school boy. As far as his appearance was concerned, you could be forgiven for mistaking him for a svelte young woman.

Fujiwara sprinted over, took the pure white business card. He held it high above his head as he took it back and placed it in the hands of the Whale.

"It's really Master Kazama at the door." Whale straightened his bow tie and stepped out to welcome him. "Today is a glorious day for Takamagahara." The Whale bowed deeply.

"I've heard a lot about you, too, Senior Whale. Yoroshiku Hajimemashite." Ruri Kazama returned the bow.

You reach up and gently wipe the blood from Chu Zihang’s face. “You okay?” Your voice is still gone, but he’s close enough to hear. When he nods, you ask, “Who is that?”

“There is a ranking in the Male Escort Association, and Ruri Kazama is the number one on this ranking for six consecutive years.”

“So what you’re saying is…” You rasp. “He’s like… Time Magazine Hottest guy?”

Chu Zihang shakes his head. “This ranking is not based on beauty nor popularity, but on the principle of art. Those selected are considered Master Ikemen. Ruri Kazama is a legend. They say he exists only for love. If he continues to keep this legend maintained for ten years, then he has the hope to become the god of the male escort world and will have a shrine built for him to receive offerings.”

You snort, disguising it as a sneeze, covering your face with your hand. “I’m almost sorry I asked.”

But Chu Zihang doesn’t seem to share your humor. “The fact that he has joined this contest raises your status as well.”

When you look back, the wind blew the hem of his coat, and Ruri Kazama stood in the sunlight with a slight smile. Although he behaved like the one shy kid from high school, you can’t deny his beauty. It shines like water: light and natural, but at the same time, reflected the sun’s infinite luster.

Ruri Kazama bowed deeply to Caesar, "It's BasaraKing, isn't it? This is a man who is as spontaneous as a Gundam."

He bowed again to Chu Zihang, "This one, if I'm not wrong, is Ukyo Sensei, said to be the image of a swordsman, but acts like a gentleman."

Then he looks at you. At first glance, those eyes looked clear and soft. But the longer you looked, they looked like two deep pools, the water of which was transparent. When you looked into their depths, however, they were pitch black, bottomless, and frigid.

#Dragon Raja

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